


Can't Lose This Love

by yamarik



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Trans Male Character, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2019-12-07 15:52:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 44,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18237026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yamarik/pseuds/yamarik
Summary: There was a time when Fushimi had everything he could ever want. A time when he was happy. A time when he was ignorant of the Slates that governed the world.That was before Japan was invaded by people who wished to steal the Dresden Slate. Left bereft and having nothing left to lose, Fushimi joins the fight against the people who destroyed his precious small world.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this two months ago but my beta had things to do so they only just finished giving it the once-over for me. The first chapters are gonna be about half-length since there were certain things I felt had more impact on their own.

The perpetual gray mists swirled around Fushimi as he darted between buildings, on his way to set up a post in a carefully selected office building. The air was even thicker than usual- a sign that rain was coming- and his uniform stuck to him even as his coattails trailed through the fog as if trying to collect it. 

“This is team A, we’re in position,” Akiyama’s voice said over the comms in Fushimi’s ear. Akiyama’s team was stationed closer to base than everyone else and therefore hadn’t had as far to go to get in place, but it still caused Fushimi to redouble his speed so that he wouldn’t be the one to hold up their mission. His pace bordered on reckless, but he didn’t care. If any enemies got in his way he’d just kill them, simple as that. He had no sympathy for any of the invading army; in fact, he hoped to annihilate them. 

The building he was setting up in came into view, and he slipped down a side alley to the maintenance access, picking the lock with the ease of practice and entering the building with the silence of a shadow. At times like this, the mist was a good thing, helping to dampen any noises he might make. 

Fushimi took the stairs up two floors and found an empty workspace which had once been filled with cubicles- you could even see marks from where the boundaries of each station had once been. He took a seat near the wall, underneath a set of windows shaded by blinds, and opened up the backpack he carried, pulling out his equipment and setting it up in record time. Once that was done, he spoke into the comms. 

“Fushimi here. Ready.” 

“Team B here, we’re in position but still setting up,” Kamo said over the comms. It wasn’t necessary for the other teams to check in once Fushimi was in place, but they still did since they knew how impatient their third-in-command could be. 

“Team C?” Fushimi asked. There was silence, and Fushimi clicked his tongue, uncertain whether that meant something had happened or if it meant that they were having a “technological malfunction” with their comms. How many times had Doumyouji turned his comms off- whether accidentally or on purpose- or managed to lose a comms unit, or managed to break a comms unit, or had just chosen to ignore communications from the rest because he thought it was more fun if things were higher tension. 

“Team C, report or else I’m calling this operation off,” Fushimi ordered, though in fact he wouldn’t call the operation off. The information they might obtain could be crucial, and could maybe even help them eliminate the enemy army. He would proceed, no matter what the cost. 

“Sorry, we ran into a bit of trouble,” Hidaka’s voice said over the comms. Apparently Doumyouji didn’t feel like carrying out his duties as team leader and handling communications with the other teams if Hidaka was doing the talking. This was why Fushimi hated having Doumyouji along on missions. “A couple of sentries. They’re taken care of, but we need to hide them, and we still haven’t reached our location.” 

“Do you need help with that?” Fushimi asked through gritted teeth. 

“Negative, by the time anyone got here we’d already have things taken care of. Sorry for the holdup, sir.” 

“Just get in position as soon as you can.” 

“Roger.” 

“Team B updating, we are ready to go,” Kamo said. 

As he awaited the preparations of team C, Fushimi’s hand instinctively moved to his chest, to a spot just above his heart. The skin there was raw from self-inflicted abusive attentions, and in his anticipation Fushimi’s nails began to dig into it again. His eyes glazed over slightly, relishing the pain it wrought. His superiors, particularly Awashima, chastised him for this habit, but he couldn’t seem to stop. The scratching grounded him, and it reminded him that he could still feel things, even if he’d lost so much. 

“Team C is ready,” Hidaka’s voice finally said. 

Fushimi’s hand left his skin and entered a pocket of his coat, pulling out a small, folded piece of thick paper. He unfurled it to reveal a photo, the gloss of the photopaper worn off around the creases. He pressed the photo to the same spot he’d just been scratching and then folded it back up and replaced it in his pocket. 

“I’m starting,” he said into the comms, and with that, his fingers began flying along his computer keys. 

“Team B, we’ve inserted our drive,” Kamo said. 

“Team C, ditto,” Hidaka said. 

Fushimi didn’t answer, just worked on cracking the enemy’s firewall so that the drives would download everything. 

One of the frustrating things about their enemy was that they weren’t stupid. Each of their divisions used a separate mainframe, which made hacking them that much harder. In order to ensure they got what they needed at this base, their unit would have to simultaneously hack two different systems. Honestly, the job should have gone to the Jungle unit instead, but due to a lack of manpower, the Jungle unit rarely ventured out into the field. While they did have some very strong individuals among them, those people were needed elsewhere, and so their members had to rely on being inaccessible to survive. 

As the teams did their work, they kept Fushimi updated on the situation. Teams B and C made sure to inform Fushimi every time they hit certain marks of download progress. Team A stayed mostly silent, but team C had just hit 85% and team B was a little bit past 75% when Benzai reported unusual movements. 

“There’s some guys moving outside the usual patrol routes,” he said. “It’s hard to tell, but I don’t think they’re wearing uniforms.” 

“It’s probably just some guys who forgot to finish their reports or who want a midnight snack and are too lazy to change out of their comfy clothes,” Doumyouji input. 

“I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who does that, Andy,” Kamo said. 

“Hey, no first names on comms!” Doumyouji shot back. 

“Everyone shut up,” Fushimi snarled. This was why he hated working with these idiots. They were unfocused, sloppy, and loud. How was he supposed to concentrate? 

There was a sudden strange noise, like a dull boom, and some swearing over the comms. 

“What’s wrong?” Fushimi asked, his hands pausing for a moment over the keys. 

“Those guys we saw? They just cut the power,” Benzai reported. 

“It’s okay though,” Enomoto’s voice said, entering the chatter. “They must have a backup generator, because the computers are already back online and it doesn’t look like the download was interrupted, at least for us.” 

“Team C’s situation is the same,” Fuse reported. “Though download speeds seem to have slowed down.” 

“Just get it done,” Fushimi said, but he barely even heard himself, because his ears were focused on something else. Had he just heard-? 

Yes, there were definitely footsteps coming towards the room he was in. This building was supposed to be empty. He readied a knife, and when a figure stepped into sight, he threw, letting the blade bury itself in the neck of the intruder. That was one less of these secondaries in the world. It felt like a better place to Fushimi already. With a sigh, he got to his feet and cautiously approached the body. Nothing happened, indicating that the man had indeed been alone and Fushimi’s attack had struck true. As if he’d ever miss. He dragged the man away from the doorway and over to a break room where he wouldn’t attract any attention. At least, not until Fushimi was long gone. After retrieving his blade and cleaning it, Fushimi returned to his computer to see if anything had changed with the firewalls, but they were still down. Good. 

“Progress check,” he said into the comms. 

“Team B, 92%,” Kamo informed him. 

“Team C, 96%,” Hidaka said. 

Good, they were almost- 

When the backup generator went, it was much louder than the original power outage had been. It was accompanied by a flash that permeated the blinds and lit up the room Fushimi was in. He craned his neck and used his fingers to create a peephole through the blinds, and saw flames lighting up the night just a couple streets away, and smoke billowing high above it. Apparently the backup generator had been much closer to his position than the main power. 

“Shit, power’s really down this time,” Gotou said, speaking up for the first time. 

“No shit,” Fushimi replied irritably. “There’s nothing else we can do here then. Retreat to Gamma for rendezvous.” 

“We’ll keep you covered,” Akiyama promised. 

Fushimi packed up his equipment and left the building the same way he’d entered, then began travelling through the empty streets like a ghost. Not too far away, he heard the sounds of a fight breaking out, but it didn’t cross his route at all. He came across no one until he reached the rendezvous, where Doumyouji, Hidaka, and Fuse were already waiting. Scarcely a minute later, the other two teams joined them. 

“Drives,” Fushimi said, holding out a hand, and Enomoto and Fuse handed them over. He pocketed them, and then turned to go. “Proceed back to base immediately,” he commanded. “I’ll report to the captain when I get back.” 

“Wait, where are you going?” Hidaka asked. 

“I have an errand to run,” Fushimi replied irritably. 

“Fushimi-san, a moment please,” Akiyama said before Fushimi could retreat. Since it was phrased politely, Fushimi did wait, but he didn’t turn around so that his subordinate would know that he would leave if whatever he had to say took longer than a moment. “Before the generators blew, we thought we saw signs of auras,” Akiyama reported. “After the secondary generator was taken out, some fighting broke out, and we were able to confirm it.” 

“So you’re saying it was in-fighting?” Fushimi asked. That would certainly be good news. 

“Negative. The auras of the saboteurs were red.” 

Red? But that was impossible. 

“Are you sure you saw right?” Fushimi asked, pivoting to face Akiyama. “Perhaps they were pink, or some of the brown auras can appear red at times too.” 

“No, they were fighting browns, and they were took dark to be pinks,” Benzai insisted. “Those were definitely red clansmen tonight.” 

“I see. You two, be sure to tell the Captain what you saw. I’ll still take charge of reporting the other details.” 

“Yes sir,” both men responded. Once again, Fushimi turned to go, and within seconds he’d disappeared into the night. 

Fushimi made for an abandoned elementary school and snuck his way to the empty gymnasium. There was a stage at one end, since the room also served as an auditorium and cafeteria, and Fushimi headed for this. Instead of climbing up onto the stage, however, he opened a sliding door, revealing a storage area, probably intended to store metal folding chairs. The storage area was empty though, and Fushimi entered it at a crouch, making his ungainly way to the back where there was a hidden door. 

On the other side of the door was a steeply sloping tunnel, and Fushimi followed this down to a subterranean hallway. Here he paused, searching until he caught sight of a little eye along the seam between the wall and ceiling. He looked pointedly into the camera, then sat down and waited. 

Once again, the scratching began as he sat there. As he tried to pass the time until someone came, he ran through math problems in his head. That was how he kept the boredom at bay: scratching and mental math. Mental math and scratching. It was either that or memories, and if he let himself think of those, he just might break. 

Finally, a young teen showed up, a sullen expression on his face. Fushimi matched the sulk perfectly, and silently wondered if Sukuna had been sent to retrieve him just so the others could watch their interactions. Sukuna and Fushimi had never gotten along, and neither was the type to bother hiding his loathing. Sukuna frequently called Fushimi a loser, an old-timer, a has-been, and Fushimi regularly told the brat to go back to kindergarten. 

“Where’s Hirasaka?” Fushimi asked. Usually, she was the one sent to escort visitors to whatever stronghold the greens were at. 

“She went on a supply run,” Sukuna huffed. Fushimi clicked his tongue in response. 

The two didn’t talk as Sukuna led the way through the maze of tunnels that spanned the area underneath the city. If they had tried to hold a conversation, it would have degraded into an insult trade, which might even have become an actual fight. So instead they trudged along in silence, Fushimi regretting more and more that he had to come here. 

It took them almost half an hour to reach the Jungle unit’s current base. When they arrived, Fushimi was greeted warmly; while he and Sukuna didn’t get along, he’d done the greens enough favors in the past that they generally held him in pretty high regard, and had told him more than once that if he ever decided to switch to their unit, he’d be more than welcome. 

“So what brings you here tonight?” Yukari asked after greetings were finished. Fushimi pulled out the two drives. 

“I need your expertise,” he admitted, even though it felt like swallowing needles. He hated having to rely on others. “We were hacking the browns and purples but they lost power before the downloads could finish.” 

“What, and they didn’t have a back-up generator?” Sukuna scoffed. 

“That was taken out too,” Fushimi said. “Just before we were done, too. Which is why I need you guys to see what you can get off these. I don’t care if it’s their Kings’ shoe sizes, anything you can tell me, anything at all, I need it.” 

“Understood,” the Green King, Hisui said. “We’ll be happy to help you.” 

“Good,” Fushimi said, and handed the drives to the green leader. “I’ll see myself out,” he said. It would take time for the greens to crack the drives, and he had a report to make and then he needed to sleep. He retraced his steps to where he’d entered, relying on his memory and wishing that the greens weren’t so possessive of the maps they had of the tunnels. The four greens, and possibly the gray king, were the only people who could navigate down here unaided- not that the gray king would be doing any navigating any time soon. Even the network of spies who were given temporary powers in exchange for obtaining information had to be given instructions on how to make their information drops. 

Once he was back aboveground, it was a simple matter to return to base. The first thing he did was head to the command center to make his report to the captain. 

“The captain” actually referred to Slate General Munakata, “Slate General” being the official term for King. Civilians and laymen tended to get a bit confused by how you could have several Kings, all on the same side, so they’d been given a special rank instead. Currently, there were three Slate Generals, but there should have been seven. It was because there were only three of them that the invasion of the secondaries had escalated to a war rather than simply being a quickly-squashed uprising. 

Decades before, the discovery and activation of the Dresden Slates had led to a sudden rise in power for Japan. The Slates selected Kings and granted them power, though if unchecked the Slates could go out of control and bring chaos to the world. The Slates were held in check though, and so they only selected seven kings. However, as the Dresden Slates were activated, so too were several lesser Slates, thought to be pieces of the original Slate that had broken off. These Slates too had the power to create Kings, but on a far more restrictive basis. Although there had to be more than a dozen lesser Slates, or secondaries, there had only been eight known secondary Kings in the past ten years. Five of those Kings- the Yellow, Pink, Purple, Orange, and Brown Kings- were now attacking Tokyo, attempting to gain access to the primary Slate, while a sixth- the White King- had launched the devastating attack that had begun their campaign: the Shizume City Damocles Down. 

The secondaries wouldn’t have stood a chance against all seven primary Kings, of course, but the Kings were no longer a united force. It had begun years before, when the previous Red King had died. His successor had been selected by the Slates, of course, but when he was invited to the Slate stronghold at Mihashira Tower- where the Silver and Gold Kings reigned- to have his questions answered and to be officially awarded his new rank, he showed up only to say “I got no interest in this Kings bullshit of yours. Count me out.” Since then, he had kept a low profile, showing up here and there but mostly remaining under the radar. And the other Kings had let him, since he wasn’t causing any problems and they could handle any problems that came their way. 

But then the previous Colorless King had passed away, prophesying on his deathbed that his successor would cast the country into grave danger. His successor had been invited to Mihashira Tower with caution, but had opted to show up on his own terms. He’d come in the dead of night, and had made an attempt on the Silver King’s life. Their powers had reacted strangely, and since then there had been no trace of either King, though apparently the other Kings could tell from the Slates that both the Colorless and Silver sanctums were still active, meaning neither had perished. Whatever the case, they’d been down three Kings when the secondaries had invaded, and had lost another when the Gray King, in the hopes of preserving lives, had used his power to create the mist that now swamped the city, preventing the usage of firearms and explosives. The Gray King had succeeded in his endeavor, but had put himself completely out of commision- he could only maintain his mist by putting all his energy into it, and had thus slipped into a coma. That set the score to 3 Kings against 5. The primaries were holding out, but who knew how long that would last? 

When Fushimi entered the captain’s study to make his report, Munakata was working on a jigsaw puzzle. He claimed it kept his mind sharp. Fushimi was pretty sure the captain really did it just to show off, though, since he effortlessly put the pieces in exactly the position they were supposed to go in. 

“I understand you had some difficulties during tonight’s operation,” Munakata said. 

“Yes sir,” Fushimi reported sourly. “We lost power. I have asked Jungle to see what, if anything, they can salvage from the drives, so I may have further reports once I hear back from them.” 

“I see. Good work, Fushimi-kun.” He paused, but did not utter a dismissal, so Fushimi reluctantly stayed, waiting for whatever else the captain had to say. It didn’t take long. “Akiyama-kun tells me that your difficulties may have been a result of work from the red clan, what is your opinion on that?” 

Fushimi wanted to spit on the ground to show exactly what he thought. In his opinion, had the Red King not abandoned his duties, the secondaries would have been much more hesitant about attacking, and the Shizume City Damocles Down might not have happened. The Red King and any clansmen of his were pieces of shit, as far as Fushimi was concerned. 

“I’m almost inclined to believe that they were sabotaging us rather than the enemy,” Fushimi drawled, “but there’s no way they would have known we would be there. I made sure our plans remained confidential.” 

When Fushimi didn’t say more, the captain raised an eyebrow, prompting him to continue, and Fushimi sighed and clicked his tongue. 

“I think it’s annoying that they show up now when the fight’s been on for a year,” he said bluntly. “We could have used another clan back when the pinks were making that big push three months ago. They’re more likely to be a nuisance than any kind of allies, and we should watch out for them and consider eliminating them.” 

Munakata smiled, as if Fushimi had met his expectations exactly. He probably had. 

“Perhaps,” the captain said mildly. “Though I wonder if they’ve really been as inactive as that… By the way, I went ahead and granted your request for the day off tomorrow. I hope you spend it well.” 

“Thank you sir,” Fushimi replied with a bow. Munakata nodded a dismissal and turned back to his puzzle, and Fushimi left. 

Tomorrow. To think the anniversary of that first attack was upon them already, that it had been a full year since the Shizume City Damocles Down. 

Which meant it was also a full year since Fushimi had lost everything that mattered to him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off: assuming I wrote this right, if you are someone who cries easily then you might wanna go grab some tissues. Maybe. Then again, this might not hit you with the feels train as much as I hoped to, so it's up to you.  
> Secondly, in case anyone wants it, I have two bgm suggestions for you as you read this chapter. The first is the Placebo cover of Kate Bush's "Running Up That Hill" ([youtube link here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d-mYX0qKkB8)) which sets up a good atmosphere for this chapter, and the second is "Forever" by Jeff Williams featuring Casey Lee Williams ([linked here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G8rm9V2rKZY)) which helped me write the chapter.

_Fushimi was just about finished editing the coding on a client’s webpage when the shaking began. It started off small, just the slightest vibration causing ripples in his coffee. He figured it must be a low-intensity earthquake, nothing to worry about. He kept on working, tweaking things here and there, but the tremors only increased, becoming a violent shaking that rattled his very bones and caused the lights to flicker, while all around the apartment, objects fell. And then, with a deep boom, the entire apartment seemed to jump, and the power cut out completely. Outside, the birds had stopped chirping, and the only sound was the panicked barking of a distant dog. The ground seemed to have settled, but Fushimi was still cautious as he crawled over to the window. When he looked outside, all he saw was a haze._

_And then suddenly, out of nowhere, a frantic, terrified cry rose above the silence._

_“Saruhiko, help me! Help!”_

_It was a voice Fushimi had never been able to deny, and he launched himself towards the front door, desperate to reach it on time. If the owner of that voice was asking him for help, then there wasn’t anything Fushimi wouldn’t do to save them._

_But even as he raced for the door, mere feet away, it seemed like he would never reach it. It was too far, and there was no way he would ever make it in time. But he had to try, because-_

Fushimi awoke suddenly, his blankets drenched in the sweat of his nightmare. His arm was extended, reaching for the door knob. He was never sure if it was a blessing or a curse when his alarm woke him up before he reached the door, since he was always too late, but he always felt that if he hadn’t been woken up it would have been the first time he made it. 

In reality, there had been no cry for help. In reality, his boyfriend had still been at work when the Damocles Down had happened. Fushimi had stayed in their apartment all day, waiting for a call from his boyfriend to let him know the other was okay. As it got later, he even tried calling himself, but got no answer. It should have been clear then what had happened, but he’d still refused to believe that was the case. So after night fell, he left his home and went to find his boyfriend. He never made it to his boyfriend’s workplace, however, because five blocks before he got to it he’d reached the destruction zone. Inside that giant crater, there was nothing. No ramen stand where they’d had their first date, no middle school where they’d first met, no skate park where his boyfriend liked to hang out, and no game shop where his boyfriend worked. All of it was gone. 

And his most precious person was gone with it. 

By the time Fushimi had regained awareness, he was already at one of the temporary evac centers that had been set up. He had no idea how he’d gotten there, or if it was even the same day. But there had been a table where people could enlist, and he hadn’t wasted any time signing the paperwork. If they were at war, he would kill every last enemy he found. It was only fair, since they’d essentially killed him when they killed his boyfriend. Using his new military status, Fushimi had gone back to his apartment and cleared it out, destroying all but a few things that were just too important. There were bound to be looters about, and he wouldn’t let them steal anything that had been _theirs_. Those items that he couldn’t bear to burn, he’d taken to his boyfriend’s family, along with the news that their son was dead. He’d only kept two things: a photo, and a small box that no one else even knew he had. 

Technically speaking, since Fushimi had the day off he could have turned off his alarm. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if the captain’s words the night before, “I hope you spend it well,” hadn’t been uttered with the intended meaning of “I hope you get some sleep for once.” Given that Fushimi was a workaholic to begin with, he tended to not get enough sleep, and his obsessive need to win this war and the nightmares that plagued him at night only added to his insomniac tendencies. But today was the anniversary, and Fushimi didn’t want to waste it sleeping. 

Now awake, Fushimi got up and showered, then ate a quick breakfast of cereal, since it was one of the few things he could manage on his own. He could have gone to the mess hall and gotten breakfast there, but unlike his boyfriend, the chefs there didn’t know how to make the pancakes just the right sweetness, or how to get the eggs right, or how crispy to cook the bacon. Dining in the mess hall always served as a painful reminder that the one person who his world had revolved around was gone, and today more than ever, Fushimi didn’t want that. 

After his ever-so-gourmet meal of Wheat Puffs, Fushimi headed out. Ideally he would have gone to the crater, but he knew for sure that there would be a formal ceremony there, held by the captain, and if he’d wanted to be at that he would have just reported for duty as usual. And while the crater was big enough that he could have found a secluded spot to himself, he’d had a better idea of where to go today. 

Their apartment was obviously out of the question. Even if Fushimi hadn’t trashed the place, safety deposit be damned, there was no way he could possibly handle seeing the place that had once been filled with their life now empty and barren. His boyfriend had been the one essential ingredient that made that place home, and without him, it became a tomb. 

Instead, Fushimi walked through the city, listening to birds chirp as he made his way to the river. The riverbank was a special place for them, the place where they’d first kissed. They would come here sometimes, and sit on the bank talking, spending entire afternoons there. One winter, they’d even played in the snow, his boyfriend even coaxing him out to make snow angels, which had lasted all of five minutes before getting trampled when they got into a snowball fight. Fushimi had always thought snow angels stupid, a foolhardy act in which one submitted themself to the cold by lying in the wet snow, but he had to admit that seeing their twin imprints lying there side by side, “wings” just touching, had stirred emotions in him that he hadn’t known he’d had. 

Had the Gray King’s mist not been in place, it would have been a clear, beautiful, sunshine-y day. It felt right, having the good weather, because his boyfriend had always loved days like that. And it felt just as right to have the mist obscure the blue skies, because then Fushimi didn’t have to see how the sun had kept shining even though his own personal sun had gone. It separated him from the sunny day just as death separated him from his one and only. 

When he reached the riverbank, Fushimi sat down. Despite his calculating nature, always making careful plans, he hadn’t really bothered to think about what to do once he got here. Uncertain, he pulled out the photo he had, which spent nights in a drawer in his bedside table and then was transferred to the next day’s clothes in the mornings. He unfolded it and looked sadly at the image it showed. 

As always, his eyes were drawn first to the person on the left. They were the shorter of the two people in the photo, although you couldn’t tell since they were being held up by the other person. It was a young man, who had auburn hair that shone copper with sunlight, and slanted eyes that were squinted shut from the force of his own smile as he grinned down at the person holding him. Fushimi felt like his heart was being squeezed, looking at him. But then his eyes moved to the person on the right, and the pain only intensified. 

The person on the right side of the photo was himself, of course. Pale and scrawny, his hair shining a blue-gray color to counter his boyfriend’s red. What hurt so much was the look on his face as he looked up at his boyfriend, so full of love and joy. Fushimi resented this photo version of himself so much, the past him who’d had everything, and who had taken it for granted that he would have it forever. He also pitied the other him, the one who hadn’t known how quickly it would all come crashing down, how his world would be destroyed without even a body to bury or ashes to scatter. 

Feeling tears in his eyes, Fushimi returned his gaze to the person on the left. He’d always found him blinding, and yet somehow he was the easier of the two to look at. Not knowing what else to do, he hoarsely choked out a greeting. 

“Hey… Misaki.” 

That was all he could manage before the tears overcame him. 

As he broke down and sobbed, Fushimi couldn’t help but to think that this was exactly why he hadn’t wanted to take part in the captain’s memorial ceremony to honor the lives that had been lost. He knew some of his colleagues would frown at his absence, but he just couldn’t do it. There was such a sense of loss and injustice at the way so many people had been snuffed out as if they never were, all because a few people weren’t satisfied with the power they already had. There was rage too, at the people who had done this to his home. And that was just the impersonal feelings he associated with the event. When it came to his own loss… the emotions were a tempest that threatened to tear him to bits. There was his grief, of course, which every day threatened to keep him from getting out of bed, to keep him from eating, and then, perversely, to keep him from sleeping. He only kept it at bay by giving himself a purpose: to take from the secondaries the same way they’d taken from him. Beyond the grief, there was guilt. Guilt that he was alive and Misaki was dead, when, if anything it should have been the other way around; Fushimi had always lived aimlessly, while Misaki had given off the impression of being immortal due to his strong vitality. Not only that, but Misaki had so many people he loved and who loved him back, while Fushimi had only ever had Misaki. Everyone mourned Misaki, but only one person would have mourned Fushimi if their places had been switched. 

But sometimes, instead of guilt and grief, there was irrational fury instead. Not the same fury directed at the enemy, but a fury directed at himself, for not being with Misaki when it happened so that at least they could have gone together, and also directed at Misaki for not living for him. How could Misaki have left him? Hadn’t they loved each other? 

Overwhelmed by so many feelings, Fushimi cried openly, gasping for air like a drowning man as his sobs shook him. Here, there was no one to see his tears, his pain, his fragility. It was a relief to let it all out, even as it felt like doing so was destroying him. 

There was so much Fushimi wished to say to Misaki now that he was gone. He supposed that now, sitting here on the riverbank, was the perfect time, but he was too choked up and couldn’t find the words. And maybe Misaki couldn’t hear him since he was dead and gone, but Fushimi still felt the need to say everything that he wished Misaki could hear, and say it out loud because it wasn’t doing him any good rattling around incessantly in his head. 

Finally, in order to try and compose himself, Fushimi tucked the photo back in his pocket and got to his feet. He walked along the riverbank awhile, and then went up to the shopfronts. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for until he saw it: a paper lantern. It was the perfect thing for today. He broke into the shop without a second thought and took the lantern, also grabbing a small candle for the inside and a lighter. He returned to the riverbank and set up the lantern, placing the candle inside and lighting it, and then he carefully floated the lantern out onto the river. It bobbed a little in the water, but otherwise stayed afloat, drifting out into the mists until it looked like a vessel that would cross into the realm of the dead. He could only hope it would carry his feelings along with it so that they might reach Misaki someday. 

Satisfied, Fushimi started to get to his feet, ready to return to base, but then he remembered there was still one last thing to do before he went back. He’d promised himself that today would be the day. Today, he was finally going to let go. From his pocket, he pulled out the small box that he’d been keeping for a year now. He’d gotten it almost a week before the Damocles Down, and had spent days trying to figure out the right way to propose. He’d even planned a little speech. The day of the Damocles Down, he’d told Misaki that he had something special planned that night, and so Misaki should hurry home. Only Misaki had never made it home, and so Fushimi had never proposed. The ring was useless to Fushimi now, since he couldn’t give it to Misaki, and it wasn’t like he could wear it himself since their hands were different sizes. It was useless, so there was no point in him keeping it, and yet he’d held onto it until now. It was time to change that. 

He stared at the box, wondering if he should just hold it over the water and drop it in, or if he should throw it. Better to throw it. It felt more final that way. He closed his eyes. 

“Goodbye Misaki,” he whispered, and drew back his arm to throw the box. 

He never released it. He just couldn’t. He knew he needed to let go, that Misaki was gone, but he wasn’t ready yet. He needed more time. His hands shaking, he drew the box to his chest and held it there, taking a deep, shuddering breath. 

He knew it wasn’t healthy, but for just a little bit longer, he’d hold on to his lost love. After all, without Misaki, there was nothing left of Fushimi, either.


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next week, Fushimi had two more operations ruined by red clan interference. When he and a team set out to capture an intelligence officer they’d been trailing for months, the red clan showed up and the intelligence officer was among the casualties they left behind. Two days later, he went to survey a base the yellow clan had set up, intending to assess the importance of the base and whether they should be targeting it, only to see a flash of red aura and then watch the base go up in flames. It was infuriating. 

He was just getting back from his failed surveillance when he bumped into Yukari. It was unusual for the greens to come aboveground, and especially for Yukari, who was usually expected to guard both the Green King and the comatose Gray King, who, as foster father of the Green King, had been left in the Jungle unit’s care. 

“You shouldn’t scowl like that, you’ll get wrinkles,” Yukari greeted. 

“Some of us aren’t terrified of such things, believe it or not,” Fushimi retorted. 

“Oh my, someone’s in a bad mood,” Yukari commented. “But that’s okay, Nagare-chan came up here just to give you and your Blue King some good news.” 

“Did you get something from the drives then?” Fushimi asked. 

“Not just something,” Yukari said, shaking a finger. “ _Everything_.” 

Everything- as Fushimi found out after he was escorted into a meeting room where Munakata, Awashima, and the Green King, Slate General Hisui, were all waiting- turned out to mean that the greens had unlocked various bits of unimportant and very mundane information, but had also unlocked one big and very alarming tidbit: the invasion of the secondaries in the midst of an unprecedented bout of disunity among the primary Kings was orchestrated from the inside. According to Nagare, no names had been mentioned, but there was every indication that the Colorless King had invited the secondaries to attack. He’d even helped the five invading secondaries set the now-deceased White King up for his catastrophic Damocles Down. 

It didn’t help Fushimi’s mood at all to learn this, however, as Munakata had long theorized that there’d been inside involvement. Judging by the smirk on his face at Hisui’s news, the captain was going to be absolutely insufferable for weeks. 

Once the greens had left, Fushimi assumed he would be asked to report on his mission, but Munakata seemed lost in thought. After a long moment, he finally spoke up. 

“I realize you just returned from an assignment, but I have a new task for you, Fushimi-kun.” 

“What is it?” Fushimi asked. He hated to say such obvious words, but with the captain, you really had to, because he had no qualms about waiting all day while you burned with curiosity, until you finally exploded and asked him to spit it out. Fushimi knew, because this had happened before. 

“I believe it may be a solution to all our problems,” Munakata mused. “Judging by your mood I’m willing to guess the red clan got in your way again, and from what Hisui-kun just told us, we seem to be outnumbered 6 to 3. If the red clan’s interference continues, and if the Colorless King makes a move, we could very well be defeated. But if the red clan were to join our ranks…” 

Fushimi understood what Munakata was getting at, but he really wished he didn’t. 

“You’re saying you want me to go find the red clan and try and convince their King to take up his rightful position in the army, is that correct?” Fushimi said through clenched teeth. 

“Exactly,” Munakata said. “Or at the very least, to meet with me so that we may discuss things without using intermediaries. Tell him I am willing to meet him on his terms, so long as his terms are reasonable. However, do be aware that he may not agree. I have met the Red King before, on two occasions, and he has a very difficult personality.” 

That didn’t sound promising. 

“Should I expect hostility?” Fushimi asked. 

“No, he’s surely too lazy to kill you,” Munakata replied casually, as if he were merely asking Awashima to bring him the implements for his tea ceremony. 

“Well that’s comforting, I’m sure,” Fushimi drawled sarcastically. As always, the captain didn’t seem to notice his sarcasm, and beamed at him. 

“Based on everyone’s intel and the resources necessary to support a large group, I would start my search in the cultural district, near the waterfront,” the captain said as a dismissal. Fushimi obediently bowed and left. 

It wasn’t hard to guess why the captain had asked Fushimi to handle this assignment. Because the red clan’s numbers were unknown, they didn’t want to overwhelm them by sending a large convoy. A single soldier would be ideal for projecting a non-threatening image. However, given the regularity of enemy patrols into the city, few troops were given clearance to move about on their own; there was safety in numbers, after all. Among the Scepter 4 unit that Munakata commanded, the only troops who had that clearance were Fushimi and Awashima. This was fine, however, because as third-in-command and second-in-command of the unit, they carried enough authority to properly represent their King. To send someone of a more subordinate ranking might even be perceived as an insult. 

As for why it should be Fushimi and not Awashima who went to talk to the red clan, that was a matter of appearances. It was unfortunate, but people tended to judge Awashima by her sex, and tended to take her less seriously. That, and she would surely tote along a ton of anko to dole out as a sign of friendship, and with the amounts she consumed and expected others to consume as well, there was no way that could end well. Fushimi had even suggested before that Awashima be sent to treatise with the secondaries, since he was certain her anko obsession just might be enough to incapacitate the enemy. 

Another reason to send Fushimi was that, he alone among his clan used a weapon other than just the saber at his side. If things came to a fight, he could use that to his advantage. 

Fushimi used caution as he made his way to the cultural district. Just because he could deal with enemy patrols on his own didn’t mean he had to, and today he wasn’t certain he wouldn’t need his energy for the Red King. He had no idea what he was getting into; the captain’s enigmatic proclamations only increased his unease, and he half expected to be taken prisoner and tortured for trying to contact the red clan. 

When Fushimi reached the cultural district, an area that- in times of peace- was dedicated to goods from around the world, it wasn’t hard to find the red clan. He had barely started down the first street when he saw a man up ahead, leaning against the side of an English-style pub and reading a magazine. There was a sign hanging over the door of the pub that said “The Red Dragon”. Someone had taped a piece of paper over it, however, one that was much faded and tattered and just about see-through from the weather, but Fushimi could just make out a few letters on it still. There was an O, and then a peak that might have belonged to and N or M, an R, and about half of an A. There was also an unidentifiable smudge at the front end of the paper, in front of the O. The man seemed to be guarding the door of the pub, though he didn’t seem to be doing a very good job given how inattentive he was. Fushimi half-thought he might be able to walk up to the pub and waltz right in if he wanted, but it seemed like this might be the reds’ base and to do so would be picking a fight. 

Up close, the guy had a hat on under a hood, and glasses. He only looked up when Fushimi was a few steps away, and instantly threw aside his magazine, grabbing a pipe that was propped against the wall beside him. The man and pipe both glowed with red, confirming his identity. Fushimi put his hands up, hating that he had to play the part of the well-behaved clansman. 

“I’m from the Scepter 4 unit of the Japanese army, and was sent by my commanding officer to request an audience with the Red King,” he drawled, not caring if his disdain could be heard in his tone of voice. 

“How do I know you didn’t just steal one of their uniforms?” the red asked, proving to actually have some brains. With a sigh, Fushimi let his aura flare, just enough to cover his skin in a clear blue for a second, before letting it fade again. The red gaped at him for a moment, then muttered to himself, “And what the fuck am I supposed to do about something like this?” After a moment, the red sighed, then tersely ordered Fushimi to wait outside before entering the building. Fushimi thought about disobeying, but again, he didn’t want to do anything that might upset the red clan and provoke a fight. He waited impatiently until, a minute later, the door opened and a man with shaggy brown hair came out, leading a young girl who resembled a doll. The man smiled at Fushimi, and introduced himself as Totsuka Tatara, but Fushimi wasn’t listening, because he was too busy staring at the girl, wondering what the hell someone so young was doing in a fucking war zone. Sure, she didn’t look much younger than Sukuna, but Sukuna was a little shit so who cared if he got himself killed. Not that he ever would, since he was a freakishly strong brat. 

Fushimi didn’t feel bad about his staring however, as the girl was staring back, with an intensity he couldn’t even begin to match. Abruptly, she brandished a small object, and Fushimi actually stepped back before he saw that it was just a red marble, which she peered at him through. Finally, she looked at the man, Totsuka, and nodded, and Totsuka reopened the door, holding it wide open for Fushimi. 

“Come on in,” Totsuka said. 

Inside, the pub was full of signs of life. There were blankets scattered messily about, indicating a group that slept whenever they could. In fact, there was a guy passed out on the floor even now, though Fushimi almost mistook him for a particularly thick clump of blankets. There was also a lot of junk food piled about, as well as some canned goods. Totsuka allowed Fushimi a moment to look around, then tapped his shoulder. 

“King’s this way,” he said, and led the way to a small office behind the bar. 

Inside the office were two men: a tall bottle blonde in a bartender’s uniform stood to one side, and a redhead was seated on a couch that was positioned to be the center of the room, his legs spread wide and arms draped across the back of the couch. The girl who had come outside trotted over to the redhead’s side and sat down next to him, and Totsuka walked over and took the spot on the man’s other side. 

“So, you’re from the Blue King, are you?” the blonde said. Normally Fushimi would assume that meant he was in charge here, but no, the others had drifted to the redhead, and besides, he could feel the power radiating from the seated man. 

“Yes,” Fushimi replied. “Fushimi Saruhiko.” 

“Kusanagi Izumo,” the blonde replied. “And this is our King, Suoh Mikoto.” 

Mikoto blinked slowly at Fushimi, but otherwise didn’t move. Fushimi wanted to squirm, to run and get away from this man, but he forced himself to stand his ground and bow to show his respect. 

“So what’s that fusspot want with me now?” Suoh asked as Fushimi straightened. 

“He requests a meeting,” Fushimi said. “You can choose the time and place, but it is urgent that he speak with you.” 

“Tell him to fuck off,” Suoh said, closing his eyes. 

“Mikoto,” the girl said, tugging on the man’s shirt. His eyes snapped open again and he looked down to meet her gaze, and after a moment he sighed. 

“I suppose you’ll tell me to do it too?” Suoh asked, looking at the bartender. 

“It would be a good idea to at least hear what he has to say,” Kusanagi replied. Suoh sighed. 

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Tomorrow. We’ll come to you. That agreeable?” 

Fushimi nodded. 

“We appreciate your cooperation,” he said blandly, since otherwise he would probably get himself into trouble by clicking his tongue. 

“However,” Kusanagi said before Fushimi could even think about leaving. And danggit, hadn’t they already agreed to the meeting? What more needed to be said? “If you could be so kind as to let us know what we might expect at this meeting, that would be helpful. We don’t want to walk into any talks unprepared.” 

Fushimi sighed, but he supposed this counted as a “reasonable term” regarding the meeting. 

“My King would like to discuss the possibility of an alliance, or at the very least, some sort of compromise in which our two entities keep each other informed of our actions so that we do not disrupt each other’s operations as you lot have been doing for the past week.” Fushimi didn’t bother to hide his scowl, or the bitterness in his voice over the ruined missions. He wanted these fuckers to know that, whether an agreement was reached between their clans or not, one way or another the red clan’s interference was going to have to stop. He would take care of them himself if he had to. 

“I see,” Kusanagi mused. “Thank you.” 

It sounded final, and Fushimi bowed again before leaving. He couldn’t be happier to get out of that place. No one followed him out of the bar to make sure he didn’t hang around and spy, and his opinion of the red clan only sank more. Were they seriously that trusting? Or were they just too weak and needed to keep as many of their people close as possible? Whatever the case, it was foolhardy of them, and if Fushimi hadn’t been so disgusted with them he almost definitely would have taken advantage of it. 

Once out in the open air again, Fushimi moved quickly, not wanting to waste any time getting home. As it turned out, he was moving a little too quickly, because he walked right into a five-person patrol of pinks. 

Among the secondaries, and among all the clans in fact, the pinks were the most common, and also the most ineffective. Most of them had no clue what they were doing in a fight, very few had more than a flicker of aura, and their general clan organization was a complete mess. They were almost laughable, and so Fushimi wasn’t even the least bit concerned about being up against five of them. Now if they had been oranges… The Orange King was considered the leader among the secondaries, a fierce woman who had practically commandeered the purple clan from their King and who wasn’t afraid to take charge and get things done. Her clan reflected her attitude, and while they still tended to be weaker than clansmen of a primary King, they could be downright formidable, especially in groups. 

As the pinks stared at Fushimi, he drew his saber and then placed it delicately between his teeth, preferring to draw his knives. The pinks, meanwhile, only seemed to identify him as a threat when his saber left its sheath, and they quick summoned up their weakly flickering auras and charged as one. Pathetic. With almost casual tosses, Fushimi took out two of them with his knives before they even reached him, and then took up his saber again as the other three came within range. The survivors didn’t even seem to be aware of their thinned numbers. 

Fushimi swung his sword, and two of them combined their auras to block it. They just barely held their ground, and he pressed down on the saber, driving his advantage. 

Unfortunately, the third pink was unusually clever and moved to Fushimi’s side, aiming a vicious kick at his ribs. Fushimi was forced to abandon his attack on the other two in order to leap backwards, hopping back to get some distance. 

Now all three clansmen had combined their auras, and Fushimi knew his knives wouldn’t reach them. Annoying. He lunged forward, attacking viciously, his saber seeking any weakness he could exploit. At the very least, they wouldn’t be able to keep up this defense for long. 

As he slashed repeatedly and the pinks managed to hold out, Fushimi became aware of an approaching sound. It was peculiar, almost like something rolling, and it sounded strangely familiar, like something he’d heard many times before but not in a long time… 

The pinks managed to push with their collective auras, forcing Fushimi back a couple of steps, but before Fushimi could recuperate or the pinks could try and go on the offensive, the sound vanished and then a small figure came flying out of the mists, a rounded rectangular shape at the figure’s feet. So that’s what it had been. A skateboard. 

The figure extended one leg in a kick, hitting the nearest pink board-first in the side of the head and sending the victim staggering back into the other two. Their auras flickered and vanished. At any other time, Fushimi would have instantly had his knives out to finish them off, but right now, he was too busy staring at the figure. It almost looked like… 

The skater, as they landed, dropped their weight and pressed down on the back of the board. As the board was propelled upward, they place a hand down on the ground and used a burst of red aura to add power to their motion, flipping around with their hand as a focal point. As they flipped, they straightened their body, the motion causing them to wallop another pink mid-flip. The skater then steered their board fluidly between the pinks, throwing rapid punches that were emphasized by shouts. It took Fushimi’s ears a long moment to process the shouting and realize that it was actual words and not random kiai. 

“Don’t! You! Ever! Touch! My boyfriend!” the skater shouted as they punched, and Fushimi’s knees turned to jelly. 

Misaki. The skater was Misaki. And not only was the skater Misaki, but he had just referred to Fushimi as his boyfriend. Fushimi had never been able to get over how good it felt to hear Misaki say those words, “My boyfriend”, no matter how long they’d been dating. And it felt especially good now, when he thought he’d never hear that voice or those words again. 

At this point there were about two possibilities as to what was going on. First was that Fushimi had somehow messed up and been laughably finished off by the pinks, and that this was actually the afterlife. There were a couple problems with this theory though: first off, Fushimi was certain there was no afterlife. Secondly, even if Fushimi was wrong about the afterlife, there was no way he’d encounter Misaki there, because Fushimi would never get into paradise and there was no way Misaki would be condemned to damnation, so they would definitely end up in different places. Therefore, that meant the second option had to be the case, which was that Fushimi was alive and so was Misaki and this was really happening. 

Or option three, Fushimi’s terrible sleep habits were finally biting him in the butt and he was hallucinating, but he was going to pretend that wasn’t a possibility because if he was getting hallucinations from sleep deprivation, he would never hear the end of it. 

As Misaki board-slammed another pink, Fushimi realized that this was probably going to go on for a while unless he did something quick. He felt as if he were moving underwater, as if his actions weren’t quite his own, as he pulled out three more knives and threw them, finishing off the pinks. Misaki dragged a foot against the ground to bring himself to a stop and looked at the fallen pinks, his sides heaving from exertion. “Thanks,” he panted. “I was in such a hurry to leave I forgot my bat.” 

For half a breath, Fushimi’s emotions got the better of him, and a bubble of hysterical laughter started to escape, it might have completely overcome him, but then Misaki looked up at him, his eyes shining. 

“Saru,” Misaki breathed, and then he launched himself forward, arms wrapping around Fushimi’s neck. “I knew I’d find you!” 

* * *

**A Few Hours Earlier**

The browns guarding the supply line didn’t put up much of a resistance when Yata and his team attacked. At this point, it came almost as easily to the reds as breathing. It was pretty routine. Go raid the secondaries’ supply lines, take everything they could. It meant that the secondaries ended up short on supplies, and the reds gained some, so it was pretty win-win for them. Or, it was so long as they didn’t get fooled by dummy convoys filled either with soldiers or ineffective supplies like firearms that no one could use or food that had gone bad, but they had Kusanagi to make sure their information was correct. 

After their truck was packed with all it could hold, the team split up. Yata always returned to their camps alone. It meant one less person in the truck, and also it allowed him to take as many detours as he wanted. He was strong- had been trained by Mikoto himself- and he had his skateboard, which made him faster than his enemies. He’d be fine alone, and they all knew it, so they kept quiet and didn’t ask where he went on his own all the time. 

The answer? Everywhere. Ever since the day he’d finally made it back to his and Saru’s apartment and had discovered it empty, everything burned or otherwise destroyed, he’d been searching. Day in and day out, searching, because he knew that Saru would never evacuate without him. No, Saru would be here somewhere, in the city, looking for him. And he’d be damned if he wasn’t gonna look for Saru too. 

Only a few people knew what he was up to: Mikoto, Kusanagi, and Totsuka knew, because those three were old friends and shared just about everything with each other, and because Yata had told them when he was begging them to let him join their clan so he could stay and find Saru. At the time, he hadn’t known a thing about clans and Kings, and had thought Mikoto and his crew were just an ordinary group of guerilla fighters who didn’t care to join the military but still wanted to do something to help their country. Yata had known that staying in the city as a lone civilian would have been practically begging for death, so he’d hoped that staying with a group like Mikoto’s would allow him to stay in the city and stay alive, while still being able to search for his boyfriend. 

Anna also knew what Yata got up to, but that was because it was hard to keep secrets from her. 

Yata had already been just about everywhere in the city, and hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Saru, but he wasn’t about to give up. If Saru was looking for him, he’d be on the move too, so of course it might take a while to find each other. So what if it had already been a year? 

Kusanagi and Totsuka both had been trying to talk to Yata, to warn him that maybe he was wrong in his convictions. Totsuka, being the kinder and more optimistic of the two, would ask if maybe his boyfriend hadn’t evacuated after all, and wouldn’t he be worried that Yata was out wandering a war zone looking for him? Kusanagi on the other hand, would point out that Yata’s boyfriend could easily have died during the Damocles Down, and even if he had survived that, staying in the city wasn’t safe. The secondaries aside, there were bunches of cutthroat looters roving about, and they wouldn’t hesitate to bump off someone they came across in case they were competition. 

But no, they didn’t know Saru like Yata did, or even at all. Saru never left their apartment if he didn’t have to, so he would have been safely there during the Damocles Down. And Saru was a survivor. He’d grown up with abusive parents, and if those shitty people hadn’t managed to kill Saru, there was no way some looter would. 

Yata spent about three hours searching. Along the way, he encountered two looters and beat them up out of principle. He had a pretty low opinion of looters, even if they weren’t capable of killing his amazing boyfriend. One person he didn’t encounter was said amazing boyfriend. 

He knew Saru had to be around here somewhere, and that he was definitely still alive, but in all honesty, Yata was beginning to lose hope. It had already been a year, and still there was nothing. Back when he’d first started, he would go out for days at a time, and sometimes one of the others would have to come and bring him back. Now, after just three hours he felt completely dejected and had to go back, lest he break down. He just wanted to be with his boyfriend again. Being alone like this was killing him. He’d never been one to understand all that romantic crap in movies, but with Saru, things were different. Special. The way Saru made him feel… that was living. But this? Being separated with no hope of finding each other? It was an agony like none he’d ever known. 

Yata kicked up his skateboard outside their latest headquarters, noting that even though they’d only been here a week, their sign already needed replacing. Totsuka always made signs that said “HOMRA” wherever they went, as homage to Kusanagi’s old bar of that name, where the three used to hang out before this war had started. The bar was still standing, but it had been near enough to the Damocles Down that it had suffered severe structural damage and could no longer be used. Yata had never been to the original bar, but he’d heard Kusanagi bemoan the loss of his beloved business many times. When they’d decided to make camp in this area, Kusanagi had instantly honed in on the pub they were staying at, whining that it reminded him of his bar, and none of them had had the heart or the guts to deny him a temporary revival of his home. 

Inside, the bar was almost empty. That was pretty normal though- they always had people out and about, on missions or standing guard or even just trying to get a breath of fresh air away from the constant presence of the same 10 or so guys they saw every single day. As Yata walked in, Kusanagi and Totsuka were sitting at a table, deep in discussion. Yata would have left them to it, but Kusanagi waved him over. 

“Yata-chan, come here a minute, would ya?” he called. Yata slumped over and took a seat next to Totsuka, trying to ignore the way the medic automatically began surveying him for signs of injury. 

“What’s up?” Yata asked as Totsuka tsked over some bruised knuckles. Those hardly even counted as an injury! 

“Gonna need a favor from you,” Kusanagi replied. “We got invited to a meeting with the blues.” 

“The blues?” Yata said, trying to remember what he’d learned of the Kings since joining the cause. It was hard to keep all those colors straight though. “They’re on our side, right?” he asked. Not that anyone was really on their side except themselves. Sure the secondaries were their enemies and were enemies of the other primaries, but that didn’t mean the other primaries were their allies. 

“Yes, and their King has asked to meet with Mikoto,” Kusanagi said. “Which leads me to what I need to ask of you. See, if Mikoto went alone, he’d probably just get into a fight, and we need him to stay calm. Which means we’ve gotta send Totsuka and Anna with him. But while those two can keep him calm, they still need someone else along to make sure that rational decisions get made. That means me because, while Anna may have a pretty sensible head on her, she is still just a kid, so we shouldn’t expect so much of her. But if all four of us are going, someone needs to be in charge back here, and that’s where you come in. I want you and Kamamoto to look after everyone while we’re gone, okay? Can you do that?” 

“Of course I can do that,” Yata replied, angry that Kusanagi seemed to think he couldn’t. 

“Good,” Kusanagi said. 

“So did the guys who were burning down that outpost run into some blues then?” Yata asked, curious. “I mean, if they were asking for a meeting, you must have talked to them, right?” 

“No, one of them came here,” Kusanagi said. “Kinda a rude fella.” 

“He looked unhealthy,” Totsuka commented. “Like someone who doesn’t get enough sleep. And he had such a strange name.” 

“Yeah, not many people would name their kid Saruhiko,” Kusanagi agreed. 

For a moment, all Yata could hear was the sound of his blood rushing through his veins. 

“D-d-did you just say Saruhiko?” Yata asked. 

“Yeah, Fushimi Saruhiko, or at least that’s the name he gave,” Kusanagi replied. 

“Wait, what did he look like?” Yata asked. 

“Scrawny, pale, dark hair,” Kusanagi said slowly, his eyes narrowing in suspicion behind his sunglasses. 

“And eyes blue as the ocean and glasses and a really sexy voice?” Yata asked eagerly, rising to his feet to lean across the table. Kusanagi and Totsuka exchanged a look. 

“Uh, Yata, I’m not sure either of us would really describe him that way,” Kusanagi said, hetero that he was. 

“I suppose his voice wasn’t too bad, but you know I prefer Mikoto’s,” Totsuka replied. 

“When was this?” Yata demanded. 

“He left maybe five minutes before you came in?” Kusanagi said, looking at Totsuka for confirmation. Yata must have just missed him. But if Saru was a blue now, then Yata knew where he’d be headed, and if he hurried, he could catch up to Saruhiko before he got there. 

“Thanks guys, I gotta go,” Yata said, already grabbing for his skateboard. “See ya!” he called as he sped out the door. He dropped his board and was on it before it even hit the ground, eager to get moving. 

_Just wait a bit, Saru_ , he thought excitedly. _I’m on my way_. 

It was only after Yata found Saru in the middle of a fight with some pinks that it occurred to him that maybe he should have brought his bat along. But he’d been in such a hurry when he left, and besides, he hadn’t exactly expected to get into a fight catching up to his boyfriend. Still, the two of them handled it just fine. The hardest part of the fight was that really, Yata just wanted to glomp his boyfriend right from the get-to. He’d been so alone for the past year, and now his boyfriend was right in front of him, so of course he wanted some skinship. But, enemies first, smooching after. That was how the world worked, unfortunately. 

Once the pinks were finished off, Yata couldn’t contain himself anymore, and threw himself at Saru. It felt good, being back where he belonged. Saru had always accepted him unconditionally, and had made him feel at home. Even back in middle school, when they knew each other but weren’t actually friends, Saru had been one of the few people who never made Yata feel like his existence was somehow wrong. And then when they met again, Yata had been terrified that Saru would consider him a freak, but Saru hadn’t even batted an eye. Once they became friends, every day had just made Yata feel like an overfilled balloon, growing fuller and fuller until he felt certain he was going to pop. When Yata had confessed, he’d been certain that he would get rejected, because of course there was no way someone as amazing as Saru would ever like him back, but then Saru had admitted to liking him too. Saru didn’t like to show much on his face, preferring to keep his emotions hidden, but at times he would look at Yata and show such love that it took Yata’s breath away and made him feel like the entire reason he’d been born was to make this one person happy. This person was his everything, and he finally had that back. 

At first, Saru didn’t hug Yata back, and Yata began to think maybe something was wrong. Had Saru’s feelings changed for him? Had Saru not noticed it was him? But no, he wasn’t pushing him away, so he must know… Maybe Saru wasn’t used to killing people and was in shock over what he’d just done? He was shaking quite a bit. Yata was just about to step back and give Saru some room when the taller’s arms finally came up and clamped around him, holding on to Yata like his life depended on the smaller’s presence flush against him. Yata certainly didn’t mind it. 

“...ki. ...saki Misa… ...sa.... Misaki,” Saru’s murmured in Yata’s ear. Some of the syllables faded out as he became choked up, but Yata didn’t need to hear everything. 

“I’m right here, Saru,” he whispered back. “Right here.” 

He pulled back from the hug just a little bit, looking his boyfriend in the tear-filled eyes. Saru was an absolute wreck at the moment, with heavy bags under his eyes and lines that hadn’t been there a year ago. His eyes were reddened and the lids were puffy, and there were tears all over the place. And yet Yata found himself memorizing how Saru looked in the moment, wanting to remember this. It hurt to see Saru so upset, but in the end, this was still his Saru and they were finally being reunited, so this was an important moment. 

“But…” Saru sniffled, “you were… You…” His breaths were heaving, coming too quickly as he verged on hyperventilation, but Saru kept trying to speak. And again, while only half of what he was saying came out, it was enough for Yata to understand. “... Call… didn’t… home, and… went to your work… there was noth… just… crater.” 

“Sh, Saru, sh,” Yata soothed, wiping futilely at Saru’s face to try and stem the flow of tears. Saru pulled him close again and buried his head in Yata’s shoulder, wetting his shirt. Ignoring the discomfort of Saru’s glasses digging into his neck, Yata rubbed his boyfriend’s back gently, trying to calm him down as he explained things. 

“I’m so sorry, Saru. I couldn’t call. My PDA broke. And at the evac center, they were really strict, so it was hard for me to go back into the city to go home. By the time I got there, it had already been almost two weeks, and someone had wrecked the place. But I’ve been looking for you the whole time, I swear. I knew I’d find you eventually.” 

Saru’s breathing slowed, still fast but more under control aside from when sobs caused it to hitch. 

“Misaki…” Saru breathed. 

“Still right here, Saru,” Yata replied. 

“Misaki…” Saru repeated. “I- I thought- thought you were- were dead,” Saru choked out between sobs. Misaki tensed. 

“Dead? Why would I be dead? Saru, you know I wouldn’t… I mean, there’s no way I would ever leave you, right?” 

“But the- the Damo-cles- Down. Your- the mall- it-” 

At that moment, something clicked in Yata’s brain that had never really connected before. He’d known, of course, that the mall holding the game shop where he worked had been on of the places destroyed by the Damocles Down. It was pretty obvious, given that there was a crater where it had been. But up until now, it hadn’t really occurred to Yata that if his boss hadn’t sent him on an errand that day, he would have been inside the mall when it was destroyed, and that all his coworkers, who hadn’t been sent on errands, had still been there. Meaning that all of them were dead, and he should have been too. 

“I- oh my god,” he rasped. “Oh my god, Saru, they’re all- oh my god. If one of them had gone instead- If I hadn’t… They could still be alive if it weren’t for me!” Now Yata was the one shaking, and Saru was trying to soothe him instead. Saru wasn’t doing a very good job of it though, since he’d never been much good at calming people and also he was still pretty shaken himself. 

“I don’t know what happened, but I’m just glad you’re alive,” Saru mumbled wetly. 

And Misaki may have been shocked at his realization, but there was only one way he could ever have responded to that. 

“Yeah, I’m glad you’re alive too.”


	4. Chapter 4

The day of the Damocles Down had started like any other: Yata’s alarm had gone off, blaring loudly at the two of them. As always, Saru moaned at the sound but only clung even tighter to Yata, not wanting him to get up. Yata was never sure whether it was his presence Saru missed after he got out of bed, or his warmth, but either way Saru’s long limbs always made getting out of bed twice as much effort, and his feeble whimpers made Yata feel like the world’s worst person for leaving his boyfriend’s side. The only reason Yata resisted the impulse to call in sick and get back in bed was because he knew if he did it once, then there would be no stopping it afterwards. 

Once he’d escaped, Yata went to their apartment’s kitchenette and began puttering around, preparing breakfast. He made French toast that day, measuring out the ingredients carefully because he knew that if he got even a single grain too much of cinnamon, Saru would throw a fit. Still, Yata adored his fussy boyfriend, no matter what. In some ways, he even liked Saru’s pickiness, because it meant that he alone had been good enough to meet his boyfriend’s exacting standards. 

Once the food was made, Yata set Saru’s portion aside and ate his own, and then continued getting ready for the day. As always, the last thing he did before grabbing his skateboard and heading out the door was go over to the bed and give Saru a goodbye kiss. 

“I have something special planned, so don’t do anything after work,” Saru said between kisses. “Come straight home, promise?” 

“I promise,” Misaki agreed, eagerly soaking up Saru’s affections. “But what’s this special thing?” 

“It’s a surprise,” Saruhiko said, and Yata almost groaned at that, because he hated surprises. And of course he was dating a guy who absolutely loved them. Still, Saru’s surprises tended to be nice, so Yata would try and be patient. 

As always, Yata didn’t get out the door until the last minute, because neither he nor Saru was very good at holding back where the other was concerned. Yata had barely taken five steps before he noticed his shoe had come untied. When he stooped to fix it, the lace snapped. 

Back when Yata had been a child, his mom had told him frequently that he should watch out for omens. She was superstitious, and had believed you had to be careful not to do anything that might invite bad luck, because once bad luck showed up, it stuck around long after it had worn out its welcome. Bad things tended not to be isolated, she had warned, so the first sign of a bad omen, you had to listen to your gut and watch your back. 

A small voice told Yata that a broken shoelace was exactly the kind of thing his mom had been referring to. A louder voice reminded Yata that he really was going to be late for work at this rate, and he couldn’t afford that. He’d listened to the louder voice and hurried on his way. 

About half a block later, the next omen hit. Yata had been skateboarding for years, and as a result, he almost never fell. Especially when he was just using his board to get around, he had perfect balance and full control. But that day, out of nowhere, he crashed and went tumbling. 

Overall, the results of his fall weren’t too bad. Just some mild road rash and a tear in the knee of his pants that his boss would shake his head over, no big deal. What was a bigger deal was that Yata had managed to whack his PDA, a custom watch model that Saru had made for him, and the face was now cracked right down the middle and had gone blank. It was broken. 

He should have gone home right then and there. Should have noticed the signs and gone back to his boyfriend, his safe place. Even if the bad luck followed him, at least he’d have Saru with him, and it wouldn’t matter that he had a broken shoelace and also he could get his PDA fixed. But without his PDA he couldn’t call in to work and let them know he wouldn’t be coming in, and he couldn’t just skip out on them without warning. He’d told himself that he’d go in just to let them know he had to go home. 

But when Yata had gotten to work there was no one else there to open so he had to do it himself. Later, when his boss finally arrived, he’d informed Yata that Arima had morning sickness and Murayama was stuck in traffic and both would be coming in, but not until later. As such, Yata had agreed to work a half day, figuring he should be fine for that long. 

The other two had arrived, but then Yata’s boss had remembered that he’d forgotten to take the previous day’s earnings to the bank and that needed to be done, and he’d instantly turned to Yata. 

“Can’t you send someone else?” Yata had whined. 

“It’s lunch hour,” his boss had pointed out. “If I send Murayama in his car he’ll be fighting traffic the whole time and it will take forever, and it’s a bit far to walk, especially for Arima since she’s pregnant. But if you go with your skateboard, you can be there and back in half an hour. I’ll let you clock out when you get back, please I just need this one thing from you first.” 

The boss had been right, and Yata knew it, so he’d reluctantly agreed. Besides, if the boss let him clock out immediately after the bank run, that would have him finishing even earlier than he’d planned, since his original half-day schedule would have had him working another hour. He’d sped off to the bank and had been in the middle of the transaction when the whole building shook. When nothing else happened immediately, Yata and the teller had both shrugged and continued their business. They finished up, and Yata was just making his way back to the door when a couple of police came in and announced that a major disaster had just occurred, and for everyone’s safety they should remain in the building. The bank security had taken this to heart and had prevented Yata from leaving until, hours later, transportation to the temporary evac centers had been arranged, and even then Yata and the other bank patrons had been escorted straight onto a bus. It was dangerous, they were warned. And even though it had been so long since the incident, the dust had yet to settle, and almost everyone had accepted the need to leave. But Yata wasn’t everyone, and his boyfriend would be worried. 

At the evacuation center, Yata was informed that the police and others involved in the evacuation efforts didn’t currently possess the means to help him track down Saru, but once the relocation centers were set up for the evacuees, he could register there and they would help him find his family. But even Yata realized that when these people said family, they meant parents and siblings and spouses and things like that. They didn’t mean boyfriends. 

It had been Yata’s third day at the evacuation center when Mikoto showed up, Kusanagi and Totsuka in tow. Yata had overheard a conversation between them and a police officer, talking about staying and fighting, and he’d known they were his ticket to finding Saru. He’d begged and pleaded and eventually they’d taken sympathy on him, and before he knew it he was learning about Kings and clansmen and something about Slates, and he didn’t really get it but Mikoto had an overwhelming red power, and when Yata took his flaming hand, some of that power became his. 

Despite joining their clan, the three hadn’t wanted Yata to venture out alone until they were sure he’d come back safely, and so he spent a month training under Mikoto. Mikoto never even used his aura, just his sheer strength, and he pummeled Yata into the ground time after time. It was a cycle that continued on repeat, and Yata was certain he’d never be allowed to go out and search for Saru, but he started finishing training sessions without being knocked out, and then he was able to hold his own, and finally, one day, he managed to force Mikoto to use his aura to keep from getting hurt. He still trained with Mikoto sometimes, even though it did next to nothing for Mikoto because the King was just that much stronger than him. But mostly, Yata used his free time searching for Saru, because there was no way he could ever give up on him. At this point, he was pretty sure that Saru was the love of his life, maybe even his soulmate. Of course he’d keep looking for him. 

And now his searching had finally paid off. 

“Except didn’t you find me when you weren’t actually looking?” Saru asked after Yata finally finished telling him what all had happened. They were sitting inside an empty shop that had been looted already, most of the goods scavenged away. Still, there was a nice secluded corner for them to talk and calm down, and they’d even found a pack of tissues to clean up with. 

“Oh hush, I would have found you sooner or later,” Yata protested. “Besides, if anything, this is your fault. I never looked at the other clans because it wasn’t like I expected you to up and join the blues. I could have found you ages ago if I’d known that!” 

Saru looked away, and then he whispered so quietly that Yata wouldn’t have heard if he hadn’t inherited his mother’s good hearing, “You were dead, Misaki. I had to make them pay for that.” 

Yata didn’t know whether to be exasperated or touched or concerned with Saru’s apparent desire to avenge him. 

“Yeah, well I’m not dead now, am I?” he whispered back, his fingers working their way into Saru’s grip so that they were holding hands. Saru looked down at their joined hands and smiled sadly, and Yata’s heart broke thinking of the pain Saru must have been feeling all this time. To believe they would never see each other again… Yata sighed and let gravity pull him down to fall against Saru’s shoulder. 

“I missed you,” Yata said. 

“Me too,” Saru replied. “Every second of every day.” 

“Aww, you _do_ love me,” Yata teased, because Saru tended to be a bit tsundere and deny when he liked things. Though he had never denied liking or loving Yata, which caused Yata no small amount of happiness. 

“Of course I do,” Saru replied, then he sighed. “But I do need to be getting back to base. I have to relay your King’s decision to the captain. You should probably head back as well.” 

“Nah, I’m good,” Yata said, lifting his head and getting to his feet. He stretched as Saru stood as well. “I go out all the time, everyone’s used to it. I should probably make sure I head back before it gets too late, but otherwise it should be fine, so I could totally come with you. I mean, if that’s okay. And if you want me to. ‘Cuz, um, maybe you don’t, but I-” Yata had no clue what else he might have said, but Saru shut him up by cupping his face in one hand. 

“I want you to,” Saru whispered, his mouth close to Misaki’s. And oohhhhhhh that was super tempting, but then Saru stepped back, a smirk on his face, and goddamnit Yata had forgotten what an asshole Saru could be at times. Not that Yata didn’t love it. “And as for whether or not it’s okay, frankly, I couldn’t care less,” Saru added at a normal volume. 

Yata laughed. That was Saru for you. He followed his own rules. He wouldn’t be him if it was any other way. 

The two of them walked back to the blue base together, side by side. They held hands most of the way, but as they got closer Saru let go. 

“Er, Misaki…” he said, looking uncomfortable, and Yata wondered if maybe Saru had changed his mind. 

“What is it?” he asked. 

“It’s just… my… colleagues,” Saru said, and from the distaste he put into the word Yata could tell he got along with them. Saru was indifferent to people he didn’t like, and only showed any signs of emotion if, on some level, he liked a person. “They’re a bit… nosy. And obnoxious. And just… I’ve never mentioned you to them, since I didn’t see the point in mentioning someone who was dead, and if I say something now…” 

“Oh, I get it,” Yata said. “Man, I feel ya. Like, the top guys in my clan know I’ve been looking for my boyfriend, but I never really told them more than that, and most of the guys don’t even know that much. Hell, just the other week some of the guys were talking about setting me up with this woman we met who claimed her crystal ball told her to stay in the city. It was really awkward.” 

“Riiight,” Saru said, drawing the word out just a bit, his eyes narrowed as if he was wondering if he needed to kill someone. “But because they’re like that, do you think we could… not make it obvious? That we’re dating I mean.” 

If Saru hadn’t always made Yata feel so accepted, then he might have thought Saru was embarrassed by him. But Saru had stared down people in the past who had made comments on their relationship, glaring at the haters until they squirmed and regretting ever being born, so Yata knew that wasn’t it. Besides, Yata wasn’t sure Saru knew what embarrassment was. He wasn’t shy about leaving hickeys, and had encouraged Yata to leave visible marks of his own so that people could know with one look that Saru was taken. Saru was shameless in plenty of other ways too, ways that Yata had begged him to be a little less open about because even if Saru wasn’t embarrassed, he sure as hell was. 

“Oh. Okay,” Yata agreed, trying to squash the part of him that was hurt. 

“We- we can if you want to,” Saru continued, having noticed Yata’s unease. “I just- they’ll be really loud. And they’ll ask all sorts of annoying questions. And they’ll stare at us like we’re strange and fascinating creatures in a zoo. And-” 

“Saru, it’s fine,” Yata assured him. “I know you wouldn’t ask something like that without good reason.” 

“Thank you,” Saru said, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat as the mists revealed a grand gate. They’d reached the blue base. 

The sentries on duty saluted as Saru led the way in, and didn’t comment at all on Yata’s presence. However, they’d barely gone ten paces into the courtyard that was past the gate when someone came bounding over, calling out “Heeeeeeeyyyyyyy, Fushimi-san!” with way too much cheer. Yata’s boyfriend instincts demanded that he step closer to Saru and glare this interloper off, but he remembered himself and watched as Fushimi calmly pulled out a knife and began twirling it between his fingers. The newcomer recognized the threat and stopped in his tracks, just a few feet away. The man looked around nervously for a moment before his eyes lit on Yata, and suddenly he was pouncing forward, getting right up in Yata’s face. 

“Eh, who’s this?” he asked, enthusiastically. 

“An envoy sent by the Red King,” Saru replied icily. For a moment, Yata was confused, because wouldn’t that tone make it obvious they were dating, and also, since when was he an envoy? But the other blue took no notice of Saru’s tone, as if he heard it all the time, and Yata supposed if they were trying to keep their relationship quiet, then he’d have to be an envoy to explain his presence. 

“A red, huh?” the blue said, his enthusiasm dimming a bit. “Well, nice to meet’cha. Doumyouji Andy.” He stuck out a hand and Yata gingerly took it. Doumyouji shook vigorously, making Yata wonder if his arm wasn’t going to end up dislocated by this handshake. 

“Y-Yata,” he replied, taking back his hand before anyone lost an eye. If this Doumyouji was anything to go by, it was no wonder Saru didn’t want their relationship being announced. Yikes. Even the guys weren’t this bad. 

“So-” Doumyouji began, and Yata could already see the slew of questions on the guy’s lips, but Saru saved him. 

“We do need to be reporting to the captain,” he said. “And also, don’t you have some work to do? I seem to recall having returned no less than five activity reports to you yesterday, and since they weren’t on my desk this morning…” Doumyouji paled at Saru’s words. 

“Uh, I uh- what’s that Kamo? You need me to come sample some snacks you made? Uh… Sorry guys, I gotta go. Can’t keep Kamo waiting, can I?” Doumyouji laughed weakly and backpedaled before clumsily pivoting and running away. 

“I take it he doesn’t like doing his reports?” Yata asked, because even his sharp hearing hadn’t picked up anyone calling for Doumyouji. 

“No, he doesn’t, and half my job ends up being chasing him down to get him to do things properly,” Saru grumbled. “Come on, the captain’s office is this way.” 

* * *

The more he saw of the blue base, the less Yata liked the place. For the past year, Yata and the other members of Homra had been constantly on the move, never staying in one place for very long. Their mobility kept the secondaries from tracking them down, and allowed them to strike whatever target was the biggest threat at any given moment. But it also meant that they couldn’t afford to keep more than the basic necessities; any items that didn’t have a use would be left behind when they struck a camp and moved on. But the blue base was the complete opposite of Homra’s spartan lifestyle. There were dozens of buildings in use, none of which were damaged or had temporary fortifications thrown up or any of the things Yata had gotten used to in the past year. The whole city was a war zone, but this base defied that by being clean and orderly, and it rubbed Yata the wrong way. 

It didn’t help that the other blues turned out to be every bit as nosy as Saru had claimed. Every second Yata and Saru spent outside, the red could feel dozens of eyes on him, and his aura kept flickering defensively over his skin as a result. Not only that, but there were some with slightly fancier coats than the rest, coats like Saru also wore, and those guys almost always came up to meet Yata. More than a couple of them even tried to hug Yata, and Yata hated hugs. Only Saru was allowed to hug him, and even then Yata might end up accidentally elbowing him away if the hug was too spontaneous. 

After reporting to Saru’s “captain”, a smug man with a knowing smile who Yata had taken an instant dislike to, Saru had taken Yata to the mess hall- which was basically just a cafeteria as far as Yata was concerned- and they’d eaten a late meal together. Saru had complained about the food, and Yata had complained that Saru was just too picky, and it had been just like old times, with their constant bickering that was their way of saying they loved each other. Unfortunately, it ended all too soon, and before he knew it, Yata found himself back at the pub that Homra had temporarily taken over. 

It was already dark when Yata got back. In a corner booth, Totsuka and Kamamoto were playing a game as Anna looked on, and as Yata came in Totsuka gave a cry of victory, while Kamamoto groaned, signaling the brunette’s win. Yata figured he’d just go work out a bit, but then Totsuka waved him over. 

“Yata-chan, come take the next round,” he called as Kamamoto slumped away in defeat. 

“What game is it?” Yata asked. 

“Chinese checkers,” Totsuka replied, and Yata cringed. He was bad at that one. Every time he thought he was doing well, his opponent managed to jump across the board and win easily. Still, it was something to do to pass the time and avoid the other enemy the red clan faced: boredom. Yata sat down, and had only just gotten settled when Kusanagi appeared and took a seat as well, boxing Yata into the booth as he propped his chin in his hands. The scene was now eerily familiar to the one earlier that day, except now Anna was here. 

“Soooooo, didja have fun?” Kusanagi asked as Totsuka let Yata take the first move. 

“Uhhhh,” Yata replied nervously. This did not bode well. Neither did Totsuka’s confidence as he took his turn. 

“C’mon, you gotta tell us,” Totsuka said. “After all, we helped you find him.” 

“Not to mention you totally owe us for running out on us like that,” Kusanagi added. 

“Misaki found the person he was looking for?” Anna asked before Yata could snap out some sort of rebuttal. Her eyes were wide, and oh crap, it was so hard to say no to that face. It was almost as bad as Saru. 

“Y-yeah,” he admitted, finally taking his next turn. “I found him.” 

“And then you disappeared all afternoon, and we’re dying to know what happened!” Kusanagi said as Totsuka moved again. He was leaning forward eagerly, and Yata sighed. What a bunch of gossips. 

“We just talked a bit,” he said. “About how we’ve been and all, nothing happened.” 

“That’s it?” Totsuka asked, disappointment and disbelief all over his face. 

“Well I went back to the blue base with him and we saw his King and then we ate dinner, but then it was time to come back here.” Yata moved a third time and then surveyed the board, trying to figure out what Totsuka was up to. 

“I don’t know why I expected any kind of excitement out of this,” Kusanagi grumbled in disgust. He turned in his seat so he was facing the bar. “God, I feel like I’m gonna die of boredom already!” 

“Now now, tomorrow should be exciting,” Totsuka said, moving a piece. 

Yata sighed. Tomorrow… When Kusanagi had first mentioned leaving him in charge, he’d been excited, but now… Now he knew that Saru was at the blue base, where they’d be going, and so of course he wanted to go too. It wasn’t fair. He toyed with one of his pieces before picking it up and moving it, his hand hovering over the spot he was considering. 

“If you do that, you’ll lose,” Anna said. 

“What? But the game’s barely begun!” Yata yelped. 

“And yet you’re already turning that board into a disaster,” Kusanagi sighed. “Here, let me take over. I _might_ be able to salvage the damage you’ve done, but it’ll be some work. In the meantime, why don’t you tell us about the blue base since you were there?” 

“The blue base? It was…” Yata trailed off with a grimace, which didn’t go unnoticed. 

“That bad, huh?” Totsuka asked quietly. 

“It was just so goddamn perfect,” Yata complained. “It felt so _wrong_. All fancy and cushy… You’d almost forget there’s a war going on, staying in a place like that.” 

“I wonder if we can really work with guys like that…” Kusanagi sighed. “Then again, I don’t think we can continue as we have for much longer. The secondaries are getting more aggressive towards us, and with our limited resources, we could find ourselves in a tight spot soon if we aren’t careful.” 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure everything will turn out fine,” Totsuka said, jumping several pieces. 

“Yeah!” Yata enthused. “We’re Homra! We’ll never go down to some stupid secondaries!” 

“I’d like to believe you guys, but I’m the strategist, which means I’ve gotta leave the optimism to the rest of you,” Kusanagi said drily. 

Yata watched the rest of that game, and the next three games that came after. He finally left when his yawns started threatening to split his jaw in half, and went to bed. Maybe he wouldn’t see Saru tomorrow, but if all went well, they’d be on the same side. And if that happened, they’d get to see each other far more often from now on. Wouldn’t that be nice?


	5. Chapter 5

Following his afternoon with Misaki, Fushimi had one of the best nights of sleep he’d had since the Damocles Down. Possibly even _the_ best. He awoke feeling well-rested and unusually eager to go about his day. 

Needless to say, Fushimi hoped Misaki would be accompanying his King on their reds’ visit. He made sure to eat more than just cereal for breakfast that day, because Misaki had a sixth sense for these things and he wanted to show his boyfriend that yes he was taking care of himself. Or at least, he would be from now on. He would admit he’d been remiss in self-care for the past year, but that would change now that he had a reason for living again. 

Fushimi spent all morning in nervous anticipation of the reds’ arrival. He wanted to see Misaki so bad, wanted everything to work out favorably, but at the same time he was worried that everything would go wrong, that the Red King might even declare war on the other primaries. What would Fushimi do if that happened? Was he supposed to abandon his King for his most important person? _Could_ he abandon his King? He hoped he wouldn’t have to find out. 

By the time the Reds did get there, Fushimi had already bitten his nails to the quick, and he wasn’t even a nailbiter. He watched as they marched through the gate, four of them. Three were too tall to be Misaki, and the fourth was too short and wearing a dress. He watched for a long moment, hoping to see a fifth form trailing after them, perhaps having gotten caught up in a fight or having taken a moment to spruce up his appearance for Fushimi’s sake. But no, Misaki wasn’t with them. 

Fushimi was certain he kept a straight face as he greeted the reds, but Totsuka gave him a consolatory pat on the shoulder and Kusanagi gave him a rueful smile, as if they knew they’d let him down by not bringing Misaki along and were apologizing. But rather than comforting Fushimi, it rankled him, because if they knew how badly he wanted to see Misaki then why hadn’t they just brought him along? 

The meeting room they ended up in was fairly standard, with several leather office chairs- the kind that were deeper than they looked and so you spent a full minute sinking into them when you sat down- situated around a long, polished table in the center of the room. The reds sat along the length of one side, while Munakata, Awashima, and Fushimi took the other. A lower-ranked blue clansman came in to serve tea and pass around cakes. On one wall, an analogue clock ticked away, the second hand loud in the quiet space. Finally, the clansman left, and as soon as the door was shut, Munakata began. 

“Thank you for coming today, Suoh. I know it is an inconvenience to you, but I assure you-” 

“Noisy,” the Red King grunted, leaning back and planting his boots on the tabletop. 

“My King requests that we skip the pleasantries and get straight down to business,” Kusanagi translated, kneading his forehead. Fushimi almost felt sorry for the guy. Almost. If his King’s behavior bothered him, then he had no business being a clansman. 

“Very well,” Munakata sighed. “Then I will be brief. Recently, we obtained information indicating that the Colorless King may be supporting the secondaries. To put it bluntly, we cannot defeat the secondaries and the Colorless King both with three Kings alone. The Gold King and the Green King are both extremely powerful, it’s true, but we are too greatly outnumbered, and there is still the matter of the unconventional nature of the Colorless King’s power. I know you turned from your duties the moment you came into your power, but we need you, Suoh.” 

The Red King’s head had lolled back as Munakata spoke, and it was hard to be certain if he was even listening. Again, Kusanagi picked up the slack for his King’s rudeness. 

“And how would aiding you benefit us?” he asked. 

“You would become an official government agency,” Munakata replied. “As such, you would be fully funded and have access to all the resources you might need. There is also the question of victory in this war. While we do not know for certain what the secondaries want with the Dresden Slates, we can be certain that it will not bode well for our country, or, more selfishly, for us. We need to win, and at the current rate, we will not.” 

“Sounds nice, but ‘m not about to become some puppet who follows orders,” the Red King said. 

“No one would be giving you orders,” Munakata replied calmly. “You would have absolute authority over your clansmen, and free reign to pursue whatever tactics you wish. All that would be asked is that you keep your allied clans informed of your actions, to avoid any operational conflicts.” 

There was a moment of silence as that sank in. 

“It does sound like a good deal, King,” Totsuka said after a long moment. 

“That’s an understatement,” Kusanagi said under his breath. 

The Red King said nothing. 

“We should do it,” Anna input. The Red King sighed. 

A beeping sound filled the air just then. Kusanagi reached into his pocket and pulled out a PDA, and grimaced. 

“Looks like there’s trouble at home,” he said. It took a moment for the words to set in, but when they did, Fushimi felt like he’d been punched and couldn’t get enough air. Misaki. If Misaki wasn’t here at the meeting with them, then where was he? If he was at the red base, then he was right in the midst of this “trouble” Kusanagi had mentioned. 

All the reds got to their feet and began filing towards the door. The blues also stood, though Fushimi wasn’t sure if they were trying to stop the reds, being polite, or getting ready to follow. “We’ll let you know our answer once we’ve had some time to talk about it,” Kusanagi told the blues. “You should hear from us tomorrow at the latest.” 

“Would you like some of my men to accompany you?” Munakata offered. “I can have a small attachment ready in less than a minute. It’s no trouble.” 

The Red King grunted, and Munakata apparently interpreted that as assent, as he nodded to Fushimi. Fushimi wasted no time sending out an alarm to Akiyama, Benzai, Gotou, and Hidaka, ordering them to report immediately to the front gate. As the reds left the room, Fushimi swept after them, grateful the captain had sent him along with the reds rather than Awashima. If Misaki was in trouble then Fushimi wanted to be there. He wanted to protect his boyfriend, no matter what the cost; to lose Misaki now, right after getting him back, would be just too painful. 

Gotou, Akiyama, and Hidaka were already at the gate when Fushimi and the reds arrived, and Benzai came running up about ten seconds later. Fushimi nodded to the reds to let them know that was everyone, and the group set off, trotting through the city in silence. Words would only waste precious time right then, and Fushimi didn’t want to take any chances. Being even a few seconds late was unacceptable. 

At first Fushimi had worried that the pace they were setting might be too fast for Anna, young as she was and dressed in such frilly clothes, but she kept up easily, her eyes fixed ahead in determination. He had to respect the girl- _he_ certainly wouldn’t want to run around in clothes like that. 

Their group hurried through the city, making their way towards the cultural district and a certain English-style pub. The whole time Fushimi felt like his heart was going to beat right out of his chest, and had to resist the impulse to break into a sprint. Even if he could manage the entire journey at a full-out run, he’d wipe himself out and have no energy left to fight with. 

They didn’t encounter any signs of what the “trouble” might be until they were almost to the bar and began to hear the sounds of fighting. The mist dampened the sound, and so mere seconds after they heard the fight, they came across the actual battle, almost tripping over the first fallen enemy. At least, Fushimi assumed it was an enemy, because the reds barely even glanced at the fallen soldier before stepping over him. They looked up to see two reds fighting a cadre of purples, oranges, and yellows. The two reds were a whirlwind of motion, the taller of the two threw his aura around him, his eyes glowing red, while the shorter darted around, dealing heavy blows that tended to make their victims stay down. Misaki. 

If Fushimi hadn’t been surrounded by people, he might have stopped to admire how good his boyfriend looked in the fight. He was strong, energetic, full of vigor, and for someone like Fushimi who was attracted to him to begin with, Misaki was irresistible. 

As the group of reinforcements made their approach, Misaki squared off against an orange, throwing rapid blows with his bat and forcing the orange back until they tripped and lost control of their aura, allowing Misaki to make the final strike. Behind him, however, a purple had just phased into place, and the other red wasn’t close enough to stop it. Fushimi didn’t hesitate and pulled out a knife, his blade finding its target just as Misaki noticed the purple. He looked up and blinked in surprise at the reinforcements. 

Fushimi heard someone snap their fingers, and a flurry of fireballs flew from Kusanagi to various enemies, striking them down. 

“About time you got here!” Misaki called, blocking an attack from another orange. “Don’t worry, they haven’t touched the bar. The rest are fighting on the other end, though.” He threw the orange back and made his own, much more effective attack. 

“I guess we’d better go check on them,” Kusanagi said, looking to his King. Suoh nodded, and strode forward, Anna and Totsuka following in his wake. “Do you mind if we leave things here to you guys?” Kusanagi asked Fushimi. 

“That’s what we’re here for,” Fushimi said drily. Kusanagi smiled gratefully at him and followed his King, waving for Yata and the other red to follow, and Fushimi grit his teeth because _that_ he did mind. Did they really need their entire clan to fight some intruders? 

There weren’t many secondary clansmen left, and Fushimi and his team finished them off in short order. They followed in the direction the reds had gone, and soon found them and a clump of others. Totsuka was administering first aid to a few guys, and someone was passing around bottles of water, which the recipients were drinking from greedily. Misaki was standing around, leaning against a wall and looking exhausted. Not surprising, given the fight he’d just been in. 

As they got closer, Fushimi noticed that Misaki was favoring his right arm. He clenched his teeth, his worry taking the form of irritation. That idiot had gone and gotten hurt, hadn’t he? And knowing him, he probably was trying to play it off, act like nothing had happened. Well, he wouldn’t get away with it so long as Fushimi was around. Fushimi would see to it that that little brain dump was stopped in its tracks. He marched straight up to Misaki, ignoring the looks he got from the red clansmen. 

“Did you get that arm taken care of yet?” he asked bluntly. No point in sugarcoating his words. Misaki paled, and a strained smile formed on his face. He was a bad liar when you confronted him directly. Actually, he was a bad liar always, but he was especially weak in direct confrontations. 

“What?” Misaki asked, his voice cracking. “I uh, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Don’t make me hurt you,” Fushimi said, grabbing Misaki’s wrist and making perfectly clear that he would shake the injured arm if he had to in order to prove his point. Misaki swallowed nervously. 

“Come on, man, it’s… it’s not that bad,” he whined. “Just a… just a small scratch, really.” 

“Why am I not convinced?” Fushimi muttered. 

“Yata-chan, if you’re injured I can tend to it in a moment,” Totsuka called. Fushimi clicked his tongue. What business did that Totsuka have touching his boyfriend, even just to patch him up? 

“If you’ve got the supplies I can take care of him,” he grumbled, glaring at the brunette. Totsuka paused in his ministrations to another red’s wound, a surprised look on his face. 

“Yeah, that’ll be fine,” Misaki sighed in resignation. “There was a spare kit in the supplies we took the other day, right? We’ll use that.” 

Misaki led the way into the bar, grabbing a small kit and heading to a bathroom near the back. Once they were both inside he closed and locked the door. 

“Did you _have_ to do that?” he hissed. 

“You’re hurt,” Fushimi replied calmly. 

“And it woulda been fine without attention. I can take care of myself, Saru!” 

“Just because you can manage on your own doesn’t mean I don’t want to look after you too,” Fushimi reproached. “Besides, I can take care of myself but you always nag me anyway so you’re really in no position to complain about this.” 

“Ugh. Whatever,” Misaki moaned. He sighed, then took off his shirt and turned, exposing a large burn on his shoulder blade, probably the work of a yellow. It wasn’t severe, but it still made Fushimi flinch to see it. He reached for some ointment and began to smear it on the wound, ignoring the way Misaki flinched. “But you know everyone’s gonna talk about this,” Misaki complained. “You made such a big deal out of it, plus… it’s not like I ever take my shirt off in front of them or anything.” 

“I should hope not,” Fushimi replied, placing a gauze pad over the burn to protect it from anything that might irritate it. He wrapped some bandage around Misaki’s shoulders to secure the gauze in place. “You’ve always been quite attractive, and now that you’ve got those abs you’re total eye candy. You’d look a bit better if I couldn’t see your ribs though.” 

“It’s not my abs or ribs that I’m worried about and you know it,” Misaki grumbled, his good arm rising to brush across twin scars on his chest. Fushimi paused in wrapping the bandages around Misaki to catch Misaki’s hand in his own, leaning forward to place a kiss just below Misaki’s ear. 

“You don’t need to hide who you are,” he whispered. “If they have a problem with it, then send them to me and I’ll set them straight. There’s nothing wrong with who you are, you’re already perfect. I can see it, and if they’re worth knowing then they’ll see it too. Though that being said, they make one move on you and I will end them.” 

Misaki laughed, just once. It was full of disbelief, but at least he didn’t voice any denials. It was just another reason Fushimi was glad the shorter was still alive; it meant he still had time to convince Misaki that it wasn’t a lie, that Misaki really was everything he said and deserved all the love in the world. 

Once Misaki’s wound was properly bandaged and his shirt back on, the two of them exited the bathroom to find Kusanagi looking ruefully around the pub proper while the other reds scurried about, packing. It seemed the reds would be clearing out. Fushimi felt a twinge of unease in his chest at the idea of not knowing where Misaki would be sleeping anymore. 

“I guess this is it,” Kusanagi sighed sadly, patting the bar lovingly. “It was a good run, but if we’ve been sniffed out already, then it’s time to go. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to this baby, after all.” 

As Misaki joined the reds in their efforts, Fushimi headed outside to where his clansmen were waiting. Not wanting to leave just yet, Fushimi pulled out his PDA to call base and inform the captain of the situation. After hearing the news, Munakata asked to speak to Kusanagi, and Fushimi went back inside to hand the PDA over. He stood by as the strategist and the Blue King spoke, watching Misaki from the corner of his eye. Misaki had always had a magnetic effect on his gaze, even when they were merely classmates in middle school and never even talked. And now, after seeing how much muscle tone Misaki had gained in the past year, that pull was stronger than ever. Plus Fushimi wanted to keep and eye on Misaki, to make sure none of the other reds got too close and that Misaki wasn’t straining his injured shoulder. 

His attention was so rapt that Fushimi jumped when Kusanagi’s hand entered his vision, returning the PDA. 

“Your King invited us to stay at your base for the time being,” Kusanagi said. “Mikoto’s agreed to it, so we’ll strike camp and go back with you guys. We just need to bring the truck around and get it loaded and we’ll be ready to go.” 

It took less than ten minutes for the reds to pack. Once their truck had been brought to the front of the bar, and they loaded it up, filling the truck bed with blankets and food stores and weaponry. It was a process that spoke of practice, a sign that the reds had done this plenty of times before. 

To maximize efficiency, the truck was sent ahead with a red clansman and Hidaka, and would meet them back at the base. The rest of them went on foot, moving with caution in case of subsequent attacks. All was quiet as they left the pub behind. 

They arrived back at the base without incident, though there was a flurry of activity as arrangements were made for the red clansmen’s stay. The Scepter 4 unit did have extra dorm rooms, but many of them were being used for storage and had to be cleared out, and none of the beds had sheets, either. Watching everyone trying to prepare for the reds, it almost made Fushimi regret not being open about his relationship with Misaki. Sure they’d have to put up with incessant prying and gossiping and it would be about the most annoying thing he would ever experience, but no one would bat an eye if he said that they could prepare one less bed than expected and Misaki could just sleep in his room. Of course, he wasn’t sure he could put it past some of his colleagues not to try and sneak into his room to take pictures of them cuddling. Some of those guys were insensitive like that. 

As the reds settled into the space that had been awarded them, Fushimi went to type up his written report on the day’s activities, and submitted that to the captain. He had just finished his report when he heard raised voices wafting through a window that someone must have opened, and one of those voices was one that he knew better than anyone but the owner. 

* * *

Yata’s morning had been kinda shitty. Getting attacked by a large force including oranges, purples, _and_ yellows tended to have a pretty negative impact on one’s mood, after all. It was just about the worst combination possible, with the oranges who specialized in condensing their auras into weapons, the purples who could warp 3-5 times a battle, and the yellows who could shoot their auras at a person. Any one of those groups was annoying on their own, but they were manageable. But all together? What a mess. 

Of course as soon as the fighting was over, Saru went and noticed that his shoulder had been injured and made a fuss over it. Typical. 

The most humiliating part, of course, was that it was a wound he would have to take his shirt off to tend. It was a pretty constant source of teasing for the guys, the way Yata refused to undress even a little bit in front of them. They had even gotten into the habit of raising a fuss whenever Yata took off a jacket or coat, claiming it was a sign of the apocalypse. He supposed if he just told them _why_ he was so body-conscious, then that would end it, but telling them scared him too much. They were his friends and comrades, and he was scared of losing that. What if knowing the truth made them reject him? What if they didn’t reject him, but didn’t accept him either and ended up treating him like a girl? He would rather endure the teasing and remain Yata, their vanguard and bro, than become Misaki-chan, a fragile flower who needed protection. 

And now they were staying at the blue base. Sure, there were some pluses to the new arrangement: he got to stay close to Saru and the blues had given them all private dorm rooms so there was less concern about getting outed, and they wouldn’t have to be so strict about rationing their food while they were there. But there were also some serious drawbacks, like how he was close to Saru and yet couldn’t even hold his hand because they were trying to keep things secret, or how the whole place still grated on Yata’s nerves. 

Once they’d arrived at the base, Yata had just enough time to throw down his blanket sack with his bedding and change of clothes when Kusanagi knocked on his door. He welcomed the strategist in, curious as to what the older man wanted. 

“You need something?” Yata asked. 

“I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind going on an information run,” Kusanagi said. “See if your friends on the outskirts know about any locations we could hit in retaliation for today, or if they’ve got any ideas as to how the secondaries were able to find us and mount such a thorough attack on us. I mean, we were only there a week, so to be able to make a strike like that… they must have known we were there at least a couple days before now. And I’ll eat my shirt if it was a coincidence that they hit us when Mikoto was out. They were watching us, and yet we didn’t even realize it, and I wanna know how.” 

“Sure thing,” Yata said, smiling. “It’s been a while since I was over there, so it’s about time I check up on them anyway.” 

“Thanks Yata-chan. Need anything to trade for the info?” 

“Nah, I’m good,” Yata replied. “I picked up some batteries from a looter I was wringing for information the other day. I checked ‘em already, they’re good. And I’ve still got some rice crackers I’ve been saving, so that should be plenty.” 

“Okay,” Kusanagi said. “I know I don’t really need to say this, but be careful, alright? I know the secondaries are no match for you, but you never know what could happen.” 

“Yeah yeah,” Yata huffed, shouldering a pack with the batteries and rice crackers and some other useful goods he liked to carry around whenever he ventured out, just in case. “I’d better get going if I wanna see them today. I’ll let you know what they said when I get back.” 

“Later,” Kusanagi said, heading back to his own room as Yata left. 

Unfortunately, Yata’s journey was stymied almost immediately, for when he reached the gate, the two guards there stood firmly in his way and refused to let him leave. 

“Only officers of the eighth rank or higher can travel alone,” the guard said. “Civilians like you cannot. An escort of at least three clansmen is required to ensure your safety traversing the city.” 

“Who the hell are you calling a civilian?” Yata protested. “I’m Homra’s vanguard! I go out on my own all the time!” 

The guards exchanged a look that screamed that they were not convinced. Those assholes… It was because he was short, wasn’t it? People acted like height was everything. 

“All the same, we cannot allow you to leave without an escort,” the other guard said. “Rules are rules, and must be followed. To make an exception is the prelude to anarchy, and it would make us no better than the secondaries we are fighting. We must protect our pure cause, and obey the rules.” 

Yata was about to tell the guy that he could put that pure cause in a very impure place when a voice interrupted. 

“What seems to be the problem here, gentlemen?” 

Yata wasn’t sure Saru’s timing had ever been more perfect. 

“This civilian is trying to make an unauthorized exit from the base,” one of the guards said. 

“These idiots won’t let me leave,” Yata replied at the same time. 

“And just where were you going that is so important?” Saru asked. To the guards it probably looked like he was taking their side, but Yata could tell that it was just Saru being nosy. 

“Does it matter?” Yata snapped back. Saru gave him a patient look, the kind that said, “you can beat around the bush all day but in the end I will be more stubborn than you and you _will_ tell me what I want to know.” Yata sighed. “It’s somewhere I go a lot,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “They help us sometimes, give us information. Kusanagi-san asked me to go. It’s nowhere dangerous, so I don’t need a fucking babysitter!” 

“I just told you, our policy states-” the second guard sputtered, but Saru stopped him with a look. 

“First off, this man is a red clansman, not a civilian,” he said coolly, and the guards blinked at Yata, who smirked and showed off a bit of his aura. “Secondly, I do believe he has his King’s permission to move about freely, and you have no authority to supercede a King. And third,” he turned to Yata, who was about a half-second from sticking his tongue out at the guards. Saru had one of those self-satisfied smiles on his face, the kind he got whenever he was about to force things to go his way. Yata grimaced. “Third, I will accompany him to wherever he’s going, because even if his King allows him to travel alone, the red clansmen are our guests and as their hosts it is only proper that we take precautions with their safety.” 

God damn that Saru. He could be so demanding. Still, Yata supposed he didn’t mind the company. Besides, the people he was going to see had been keeping their ears open for word of Saru for him, so Yata supposed it might be polite to introduce them to the person they’d volunteered to help him find. 

“Che,” Yata muttered. 

“Understood, sir,” the guards said, lowering their heads in acknowledgement. And Yata’s smugness returned at that. Served those idiots right for treating him like he was weak. He wasn’t weak; he could probably kick both their asses ten times without even breaking a sweat! 

Yata and Saru disappeared off into the mist together, leaving the idiot guards behind. 

“Dumbasses,” Yata muttered under his breath. 

“It can’t be helped,” Saru replied. “They’re used to clansmen that wear uniforms. Even the greens will put on uniforms when they come to visit. With your outfit, you look nothing like what they’re used to clansmen looking like, so of course they’re gonna think you’re a civilian.” 

“But I told them I’m from Homra! They just didn’t listen!” Yata whined. 

“Probably because they don’t know the name Homra. Is that what your King chose to call his clan?” 

“Wait, they don’t know Homra?” Yata asked, his eyes bugging out. It was inconceivable to him that someone might not know Homra. For the past year, Homra had filled his life, and he couldn’t imagine a world without Homra now. To realize there were people who were oblivious… 

“Your King has historically denied any association or communication with the other Kings,” Saru said drily. “No, we don’t know your name, but I suppose now that you’ve told me I can update our databases after we get back from wherever we’re going.” 

Since Saru was tagging along and would see anyways, Yata figured there wasn’t any point in keeping their destination a secret anymore. 

“Ashinaka Island,” he said. “That’s where we’re going. Some of the students don’t have families, and were there on scholarship. When the school was evacuated, they stayed on, since the school is all they have. They ended up making it a refugee camp for others who refused to evacuate, and sometimes I help them out with stuff or give them extra supplies we pick up. In return, they tell me things they hear from looters they trade with.” 

“Look at you, acting all responsible and taking care of orphans,” Saru teased. 

“Hey, shut up,” Yata replied half-heartedly. Saru smirked at him, but the look faded quickly. 

“Though that reminds me I still have to email your mom to let her know you’re alive…” Saru mused. 

Yata felt like his heart had stopped. Did Saru mean that Yata’s family thought he was dead? But then again, why wouldn’t they? He hadn’t once tried to contact them in the past year, nor had he evacuated the city and registered at one of the refugee centers. It simply hadn’t occurred to him what that might make his family think. 

Yata’s relationship with his family had always been a little complicated. He’d always felt like the odd one out, and then after he’d come out to them, things had only gotten more awkward. He knew they still loved him, and he loved them, but when the chance came for him to move out, he didn’t even hesitate. His visits since moving out had been infrequent, and while they had picked up a bit since he and Saru started seeing each other, there was still a lot of distance between Yata and his parents and siblings. Saru was his family now. It had never even crossed Yata’s mind that he ought to contact his other family, the one he’d grown up with- not that he could have with his broken PDA. 

But apparently where Yata had forgotten about his relatives, Saru hadn’t. 

“I think… I think maybe you shouldn’t say anything yet,” Yata responded slowly. Saru gave him an incredulous look at that. “I mean, yeah I don’t want them mourning me, but it’s… It’s kinda just in case, right? Like how my mom always talked about omens and being careful with your luck and all. It just feels like, if you go ahead and tell them I’m alive, something bad’s gonna happen. And sure, I don’t plan on dying or anything, but you never know, and just, I don’t want them to get me back only to lose me again, y’know?” 

Saru’s eyes softened and he nodded. 

“I suppose I see your point,” he whispered. 

They continued on in silence until they finally reached the long bridge between the mainland and the island. They walked along in the middle of the road, confident that no cars would be coming given the abandoned city and the thick fog, ducking under the barriers of the unmanned toll booths. As they walked, the fog thinned- a sign that the Gray King’s power was stretched thinner out here. It was one of the reasons Yata had first come this way- out here, it was easier to feel the limited sunlight. 

Near the end of the bridge, a youth with black hair tied back in a ponytail was seated in the middle of the road, a sword in his lap and his eyes closed meditatively. He looked calm and peaceful, and one might have thought he was asleep, but Yata knew better than to try and sneak past the boy. 

“Yo, Kuro!” Yata called out in greeting. Kuro- Yatogami Kuroh, really- didn’t move or open his eyes, but his right eyebrow twitched irritably. 

“Must you always be so loud?” Kuro asked, his voice testy. 

“Well ‘course I gotta shout,” Yata replied. “If I come any closer without saying anything then you try and whap me with that oversized baton of yours.” 

“Kotowari. Is not. A baton,” Kuro grit out, his eyes opening to steely slits. 

“Might as well be, since you never take it out,” Yata pointed out. “Unless you feel like taking me seriously this time?” 

“And who’s this with you?” Kuro asked suspiciously, changing the topic. Probably because Yata had challenged him to duels about a dozen times already, and lost every one of them. 

“Oh, right,” Yata said. “Kuro, this is my boyfriend, Saru, the guy I was looking for. Turns out he went and became a blue, which is why I never found him up ‘til now. And Saru, this is Kuro, he’s kinda the last boss to get past to enter this place. Only you face him first, so I guess he’s not really last, huh?” 

“You really suck at introductions, Misaki,” Saru said, giving Yata an unamused scowl. 

“Agreed,” Kuro said. He got to his feet and held out a hand. “Yatogami Kuroh. Pleasure to meet you.” 

“Fushimi Saruhiko,” Saru replied, taking the hand. “Likewise, I’m sure.” Kuro’s eyes narrowed a bit at the sarcasm, but otherwise he made no comment. 

“Yeah yeah,” Yata interrupted. “Anyway, Kuro, listen, any chance we could go see Shiro? There’s some information I need, plus I brought a few things for you guys.” 

“It’s not like Shiro’s ever busy,” Kuro commented drily. “Go on ahead, I’ll see when you come back out.” 

Yata waved a farewell and led Saru the rest of the way down the bridge to the island proper. There was a turnstyle at the school’s entryway, one that required a PDA scan, but it was easily bypassed through a hidden side door that Shiro had shown Yata long before. Most visitors had to let Kuro scan them in and escort them around, but Yata had done enough that the students had decided to make an exception for him. 

Once inside, they headed for the dorm building where everyone resided. Along the way, a few people called out to Yata and he waved back at them. There was that fortune teller he and the guys had helped out, and there was Mishina-kun and a few other guys who worshipped Yata as a skateboarding god, and there was a looter who had almost killed Chitose once but who was otherwise pretty friendly with Homra. Next to Yata, Saru glared around at everyone, never one for being social. It made Yata laugh a little, seeing his grumpy boyfriend being, well, grumpy. He’d missed this guy. 

Once inside the dorm they went up a few floors to Shiro’s room, and Misaki knocked. A few seconds later, the door was opened by Shiro himself, with Neko hanging off his shoulders, her feet dragging on the floor behind them. At least she seemed to be properly clothed, which wasn’t always the case when Yata stopped by. 

“Ah, Yata-kun,” Shiro said warmly. “Come in, come in. How’s your search for your boyfriend going? I haven’t heard anything useful, but recently things have been a bit… hectic.” 

“Well actually,” Yata replied, “this is him. Fushimi Saruhiko, in the flesh. I finally found him, though I guess it’s more that we found each other. ‘Bout time, too.” 

“Congratulations,” Shiro said, showing them to the small coffee table where Shiro and his friends ate and met with guests. 

“Thanks,” Yata said. “But I didn’t just come to introduce him to ya. I need some information.” 

“I figured as much,” Shiro said ruefully. “Unfortunately, I don’t know if I’ll be able to help you much. There’s been rumors of the Colorless King being on the move and possibly planning to attack the island, so we’ve been trying to prepare for a fight. You know how it is.” 

Yata nodded understandingly. “You know you can always count on me if things get bad,” he told the boy. “But just in case, I hafta ask: this morning our camp got attacked, and there were three clans working together. Oranges, purples, and yellows. We’d only been there a week, so we were wondering how they found us so quick. Not only that, but if you’ve got any ideas where we might be able to strike back, we’d appreciate it.” 

“Oranges, purples, and yellows, you say,” Shiro mused. “Interesting. The secondaries may be allies in their campaign to get the Dresden Slate, but they don’t typically work together. It’s no secret that the Purple King has feelings for the Orange King and will defer to her, but for the Yellow King to join them… Either he feels that threatened by your clan, or the Orange King has something on him. I’ll look into it, but I’m afraid that, as I said, I don’t have anything for you at this time. We’ll keep our ears open, but no promises.” 

“Thanks anyway,” Yata said, getting to his feet. Remembering his offerings, he slung his pack around to dig out the batteries and rice crackers. “These are for you. The crackers might be a bit stale, sorry.” 

“Much appreciated,” Shiro said. “I’ll send someone over if we have anything for you, but you’re always welcome to stop by even for a social visit. A lot of people here owe you and your clansmen their lives, and we won’t forget it.” 

“I’ll be by when I can,” Yata said, getting to his feet, “but things will probably be a bit weird from now on, since we’re staying with the blues for a while. Anyway, I’ll see you next time, Shiro. Enjoy the crackers, Neko.” He waved goodbye, and then he and Saru were gone. 

* * *

Akagi was tired. After the fight they’d gotten into that morning, he’d wanted nothing more than to nap all afternoon. Using aura could really take it out of a guy. Sleep had sounded so good… 

Instead, just after he lay down a blue officer had knocked on the door to the room Akagi was staying in with Bandou and had summoned the two of them to an orientation. They, and the other Homra members, got treated to an entire afternoon of lectures about the Scepter 4 unit and their ranks and what would be expected from them as guests of the unit. To make things worse, some of the red clansmen managed to escape the orientation somehow: Yata, Totsuka, and Anna all weren’t there. Neither was Mikoto-san, but he was the King. 

The only good thing about the lecture was that, after the Blue King gave his opening speech, some smokin’ hot blonde with a nice body took over. Unfortunately, while she was really something to look at, she was a tyrant. Any time someone’s attention wavered in the slightest, a piece of chalk would hit their head with such force that it broke. On one occasion, when Chitose was passing a note to Dewa, the chalk even disintegrated, leaving Chitose’s hair full of blue powder. She also questioned them relentlessly, and Akagi would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit scared of her by the time they were finally released from the orientation. 

At this point, they were all hungry, and headed over to the mess hall. They had just gotten their food and sat down when Yata appeared, along with the blue officer who had looked after the vanguard earlier that day. The two of them went and filled their trays, and then sat down a couple tables away. It was weird, because normally, Yata didn’t like other people much. Back in Homra, he tended to hang around Mikoto-san and Totsuka-san and Kusanagi-san and Anna and Kamamoto, and only deigned to talk to the rest of them if his preferred conversation partners weren’t around. Yata kept his distance from people. So why did he opt to sit with a blue he barely knew over his clansmen? It made no sense. 

“Hey guys,” Akagi said lowly, “Don’t you think Yata-san and that blue get along surprisingly well?” 

Akagi had forgotten that his clansmen were, at the cores of their natures, a very straightforward bunch: they all immediately looked over at where Yata and the blue were sitting without even trying to be subtle about it. None of them even pretended to fall out of their seats, or took a moment to stretch, or looked around the whole room as if they were trying to find a clock. Akagi felt like facepalming. 

“I know, right?” a new voice said, and Akagi looked up to see a blue officer with dark hair that was slicked back. He’d been there at the fight as well. Behind him was a cluster of other blues, who looked to be varying degrees of uncomfortable and nervous. “Mind if we join you?” the speaker said, already taking a seat. 

“I dunno,” Fujishima said, watching as Yata punched the blue, “are you guys sure they don’t just hate each other?” 

“Oh come on, Yata voluntarily sitting with some guy he barely knows? Yeah right,” Chitose countered. 

“Key word there: _voluntarily_ ,” Eric said. “Maybe that blue is holding something over him. No offense.” He turned to address the blues with the last comment. 

“None taken,” a guy with brown hair that hung to his shoulders said. “It is Fushimi you’re talking about after all.” 

“Yeah, except how would he find out anything to blackmail Yata-san with since they met this morning?” Dewa pointed out. 

“No, they met yesterday,” a guy with glasses said. “Your Yata-san escorted Fushimi-san back to base after Fushimi was sent to visit your King. Fushimi-san even showed him around after. It was most unusual behavior for him.” 

“Yeah, no kidding,” a guy with reddish hair said. “Fushimi is like, never friendly.” 

“That’s just because you tend to piss him off, Doumyouji,” a brunette with his hair artfully styled replied. 

“Yeah, but what about that contest the one time, remember?” Doumyouji argued. “We had a contest running, where everyone would have a week to see who could make a certain person smile the most. When it was time to make Fushimi smile, we bumped the deadline up to a month because no one could make him smile. No one! Even after a month we had to give up! He hates people, I swear!” 

“Wait, are you serious?” Bandou asked incredulously. 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he would write everyone’s names in a Death Note if he ever found one!” Doumyouji insisted. 

“Actually, I meant did you seriously hold a contest to see who could make people smile the most,” Bandou clarified. 

“Oh,” Doumyouji said, deflating. 

“Okay, but back on subject, don’t you guys think it’s weird how easily Yata-san caved to that Fushimi-san earlier?” Akagi persisted. “If it was any of us, he would have wigged out if we pointed out he was injured, and he would have half-killed us if we tried to look after him. And we’re his clansmen! So isn’t it odd that he’d let a total stranger do just that with barely any protest?” 

“You think _that’s_ weird? This afternoon I saw Fushimi volunteer to escort that Yata-san off base,” said a guy with a man bun. “I suppose he could have just been paying him back for bringing him here yesterday…” 

“Waitwaitwait, guys, I’ve had a brilliant idea,” a guy with brown hair that was bordering on being a mullet said, his eyes lighting up in excitement. “You guys said that Yata-san or whatever his name is doesn’t get along with people easily, right?” 

“Are you kidding? He barely even gets along with us, and we’re like family to him, he’s that difficult,” Dewa said. 

“Right,” the not-mullet continued, nodding. “And Fushimi’s even worse. He only talks to people when he absolutely has to, and only as much as he has to, except when he’s delivering insults. So what I’m thinking is this: they’re both super unfriendly, but they get along surprisingly well, don’t you think it’s a match made in Heaven?” 

“Wait, what?” Fujishima said. 

“I think I get where you’re coming from,” Akagi said, nodding in agreement. And you’re right, it’s a great idea.” 

“What is?” the glasses blue asked nervously. 

“We’re proposing that we find a way to set Yata and Fushimi up,” the not-mullet said, leaning back and crossing his arms with a smug look on his face. 

Several people paled at his words. 

“What, it’s a good idea!” he insisted. 

“Er, it’s not that it’s a bad idea, it’s just that they were heading towards the garbage cans when you said that,” Kamamoto said. “Though they were still a table away so they might not have heard. And they’re carrying on as if nothing happened, so I think we’re safe.” 

“Well that’s fine and dandy, but you guys do realize that what you’re saying is really, like, gay?” Chitose said. “And like, I’m not homophobic or anything, I swear, but what if they’re just not into that?” 

“Total homophobe,” Dewa coughed. Chitose glared at him. 

“I’m pretty sure Fushimi is the only guy on this entire base who hasn’t subtly ogled Awashima when she wasn’t looking at some point,” not-mullet said. “And any guy who doesn’t drool a little over _her_ is either hella gay or dead as a doornail.” 

“Subtly? Hidaka, just who do you think you’re kidding?” a guy with straight brown hair choked. 

“Maybe he’s just respecting her boundaries,” man-bun said. “Or honoring her relationship with the captain.” 

“First off, the relationship is still alleged,” straight hair said, “and second, Akiyama is the boundary-respecting champ and even he’s been caught staring a moment too long before. Let’s face it, Hidaka has a point.” 

“Well Yata-san would probably die of shame if he ever saw a naked woman,” Eric commented. “We found a gravure magazine once and tried to get his opinions on some of the print-outs and I think he was traumatized. If he’s straight, he’s in serious trouble.” 

“It’s hard to say given how much he respects Mikoto-san, but I’m pretty sure I’ve seen Yata drool a bit at the sight of Mikoto-san’s abs,” Kamamoto said helpfully. 

“Dude, I’m straight and even I’ve drooled over Mikoto-san’s abs,” Bandou said. “That doesn’t mean anything.” 

“Well whatever, if they’re gay or not is something we can find out later,” Akagi said. “We just have to poke around a bit, get them talking, and find out what they’re into. If they’re straight then we’ll back off, and if not… then it’s anchors away, am I right?” 

“Dude, this is the army,” the guy with shoulder-length hair said. 

“It doesn’t matter,” slicked-back hair said. “He’s right. Let’s get started and see how things go, and if all works out, then we just might help those two find happiness. Who’s with me?” 

The assembled reds and blues looked at each other and then nodded. They were all in. 

Back at the dorms, Yata and Fushimi had just reached the latter’s room. As soon as the door was closed, Yata went into meltdown. 

“Oh my god, did you hear them?!?” he cried. “They… they want to set us up!” 

“Yes I heard,” Fushimi said. “I may not have your hearing, but I’m not deaf.” 

“Oh god, what do we do?” Yata moaned. 

“Why not just let it play out?” Fushimi suggested. “It could be amusing.” 

“Wait, you think this is _funny_?” 

“To put it simply, yes, I think it’s funny, Misaki. Or rather, I think it’ll be funny to see their faces when they find out that they were trying to get us together when we were already a couple from the start. And I’m sure their efforts will be nothing short of clumsy, so it should be quite entertaining.” 

“You are so twisted, y’know that?” Yata said, but he was starting to smile. “But sure, I guess this could be interesting.”


	6. Chapter 6

It was like moving into the blue base had cramped the reds’ style. Normally there was constant action among their ranks, with someone always on a mission or conducting recon or just generally being out and about, yet here they were, the morning after moving in, and nothing was happening. It was probably so that Kusanagi-san and Totsuka-san and Anna could talk with their King about making a decision regarding the Blue King’s proposal. After all, Kusanagi-san was generally the one planning all their missions; were it up to the rest of them, they would go rushing in without a second thought, and would likely have gotten killed long ago. Kusanagi-san made sure they had all the details, and that their plans had all the necessary elements, particularly escape routes if things went wrong. If he was busy in conference with the King, then of course there wouldn’t be missions. 

With nothing else to do, the red clansmen ended up idling around a lounge in the dorm as one large group. They chatted about pretty much nothing for a while, but finally, they felt that enough time had passed. With careful glances at each other, they all nodded, and honed in on Yata. 

“Hey Yata-san, help us settle a bet, will ya?” Bandou said. 

“Uh… okay,” Yata agreed, though his mind seemed to be elsewhere. 

“Are you gay or straight or what?” Bandou asked bluntly. “‘Cuz I mean, Eric’s certain you’re homo, but Chitose ain’t buying it. But then Fujishima had to go and point out that there’s other sexualities as well, and that you could be bi or pan or ace or demi or something, so we gotta settle this, y’know.” 

Yata’s jaw dropped open and he made a strangled sound. He blinked at them all several times, his brain clearly short-circuiting as he repeatedly tried and failed to process what they’d just asked him. Finally he looked away, and with a blush he answered, “G-gay. I like guys.” 

“Told ya,” Eric said. “Pay up bitches.” 

“So what kinds of things do you find attractive?” Akagi asked. 

“Dude, he just told us he’s gay, do you really wanna know?” Chitose asked. 

“I… I dunno,” Yata mumbled, looking pointedly at the floor. “If they’re cool I guess?” 

“So you wanna date Mikoto-san then?” Kamamoto asked. After all, they’d all heard Yata rant about how cool Mikoto-san was in the past. 

“What? No!” Yata protested. “No way! Mikoto-san is Mikoto-san. You can’t date him!” He glared for a moment, then added more calmly, “Besides, he’s already dating Totsuka-san.” 

“But what if he weren’t dating Totsuka-san, would you do it then?” Eric asked. 

“Like I said, Mikoto-san is Mikoto-san,” Yata declared. “It’d be like dating one of you guys- just too weird.” 

“Well thank god for that,” Chitose muttered. Dewa elbowed him in the gut for it. 

“So… clansmen are out then?” Kamamoto asked. 

“Yeah,” Yata nodded. “You guys are like my family. Plus you’re kinda… not my type.” 

“Dude, did he just call us uncool?” Bandou asked. 

“I think he did,” Akagi answered. 

“Little punk,” Bandou grumbled. 

“I’m not little!” Yata cried. 

“Well we wouldn’t exactly know, would we?” Dewa said, raising an eyebrow. Yata blinked in confusion, and then turned bright red when he caught on. He pursed his lips, looking uncomfortable. 

“Okay, so you wouldn’t date any of us, but what about the blues?” Kamamoto asked, trying to persist in their information-gathering without upsetting the vanguard any further. “Would you date one of them?” 

“What, how could I date one of them?” Yata asked. “I barely even know them. Besides, while they’re pretty and all, they’re kinda… I dunno, pushy. It’s uncomfortable.” 

“But you do find the blues attractive?” Fujishima asked. 

“I-I guess?” Yata said. “Some of them? Like that uh… what’s his name again… Aki-something. He’s not bad. And I guess that glasses dude, uh… Edamoto maybe? But they seem to have kinda wimpy personalities, which isn’t really my thing.” 

“So if the blues are no good, what about those guys over at that island?” Eric asked. 

“What? No. Ew. They’re like, 12,” Yata replied. 

“So are you,” Eric said. 

“I am not!” Yata protested. “I’m already 20, damnit!” 

“Wait, are you really?” Chitose asked in total seriousness. “I thought you were in high school yourself.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Yata shouted angrily. 

“Er, excuse me,” a low-ranked blue clansman said from the door. He looked mildly terrified to be speaking to them. “Sorry to interrupt, but is one of you Yata-san by any chance? There’s some civilians at the gate who were asking for him…” 

“That’s him,” several reds said, pointing at Yata. When riled up too much, Yata could get downright destructive, and none of them wanted to have to face the consequences of Chitose’s comment, especially when many of them had been under the same impression. The guy was short and had a babyface, okay? Before Yata could say anything, Kamamoto was practically shoving him out the door, telling him not to keep his friends waiting. 

Yata was more than a little annoyed at his clansmen, but at the same time, he was a bit glad for an excuse to get out of there. That whole conversation had been super weird. He supposed this was a result of them deciding to set him and Saru up, which just made him even more nervous about his answers. 

Since they were both leaving the dorm building, Yata followed the blue clansman out, and then headed for the front gate. Waiting there were four familiar faces from Ashinaka Island: Kukuri-san, Ibara-san, Mishina-kun, and another guy whose name escaped Yata at the moment. As Yata approached the gate, Kukuri stepped forward, and it took all Yata’s self-control not to flinch back. 

It’s not that Yata had a problem with girls, exactly. He was fine with Anna after all. It’s just that girls tended to be like a living, breathing, walking, and talking reminder of all the things Yata hated about himself. He also felt nervous around them, because what if someone passing by thought he looked rather girly himself? 

“Hello Yata-san!” Kukuri greeted cheerfully, ever-oblivious to how uncomfortable she made him. “Shiro-san got a good tip today that he thought you guys might be interested in, so he sent us over to tell you.” She handed over a piece of paper that was folded many times over, and then peered at the base behind him. “Are you guys staying here now?” she asked with interest. 

“Er, for now,” Yata admitted. “Though I’m not sure how long it’ll last. But, um, do you guys need me to go back with you?” he asked, hoping they’d say no but feeling like he should offer because he knew that if anything happened to any of the kids, Kuro would come after him and murder him. 

“No, it’s okay,” Kukuri replied. “If that’s important then I’m sure you’ll have things to do, and Kuro-kun’s been teaching us Kendo.” She took a fighting stance and swung an imaginary sword, a serious expression on her face. And while Yata was confident that he was stronger than all four messengers combined, he felt in that moment that he really didn’t want to face Kukuri in a fight ever. 

The four students disappeared into the fog, and Yata headed back to the dorm. Once inside, he unfolded the paper and looked it over, noticing right away that it was a photocopied map of the city with a circled dot marked on it. There was writing next to the dot, and he read what it said, then gasped. He charged up the stairs making for the room that had been assigned to Mikoto-san. 

“Kusanagi-san!” he yelled, bursting in. The man in question looked up, as did Totsuka-san, Anna, and Mikoto-san. He waved the paper at them. “You’ve gotta see this!” he panted, thrusting the paper at the bartender. Kusanagi took the paper, and Totsuka got up to spy over his shoulder as he read. Kusanagi whistled. 

“And you’re sure this info is good?” he asked. Yata nodded. 

“It came from Shiro,” he said. “Some of the students just brought it.” 

“In that case, I think we should let the Blue King know about this, along with our decision on his offer.” 

* * *

Fushimi had spent a nice quiet morning at his desk, going over some paperwork. He also wanted to update the Scepter 4 unit’s computer systems a bit, but he felt the need to get some coffee first. 

That was a mistake. 

No sooner had Fushimi set foot in the break room than he was ambushed by his colleagues. It wasn’t hard to guess what they wanted- after all, he knew what they were up to. 

“Hey, Fushimi-san,” Hidaka began, “I was wondering… what’s your type?” 

“Not you,” Fushimi replied bluntly. 

“Looks like we’re gonna need some aloe,” Benzai murmured. 

“Actually, I’m kinda relieved,” Hidaka breathed. “You may but hot but you’re kinda a dick. But no, that’s not what I meant, Fushimi-san. I wanted to know if you like guys or girls.” 

“No,” Fushimi replied, taking possession of the coffee pot to fill his mug. 

“That wasn’t a yes or no question!” Hidaka sputtered, and Fushimi was started to feel a little less annoyed by this and a little more entertained. 

“You asked if I like guys or girls,” Fushimi said, keeping a straight face as he poured. “I happen to dislike every new person I meet equally, regardless of gender, therefore, no, I do not like guys or girls, or nonbinary people for that matter.” 

“I think he meant whether you like them sexually,” Gotou said helpfully. 

“Or romantically,” Kamo added. 

“Well which do you want to know?” Fushimi asked, replacing the coffee pot. “Do I sexually like guys or girls, or do I romantically like guys or girls?” He watched as his colleagues rolled their eyes in frustration, then decided to have a little mercy on them. “Because it just so happens that the answer is the same for both questions.” 

“Great!” Doumyouji exclaimed. “So what’s the answer then.” 

“Yes, I do like one of those romantically and sexually.” 

Doumyouji groaned. He wasn’t the only one. 

“Er, would you mind informing us which one it is that you are attracted to?” Enomoto asked. 

“Yes,” Fushimi said. 

“And…?” Fuse asked, looking ready to punch Fushimi in the face. Fushimi would have liked to see him try. 

“And what? I said yes, meaning I do mind telling you which I prefer,” Fushimi said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to be doing, and I’m sure you all do too.” 

As he took his coffee back from the desk, he just managed to hear Akiyama saying, “Maybe we should try a different approach.” Fushimi wasn’t sure whether he was annoyed by their persistence or pleased at the opportunity to frustrate them more. It had been such fun, after all, but he did have work to do. 

His uncertainty was soon resolved, however, when Gotou came up to his desk while he was in the middle of his updates. 

“Excuse me Fushimi-san,” he said despite Fushimi’s attempts to studiously ignore him by keeping his gaze fixed on his computer screen, “but we need your help with something. We were making a unit calendar, and for the summer months, wanted a swimsuit photo, but we couldn’t decide whose photo to use. So who do you think looks better: the captain? Or Awashima-san?” 

Fushimi almost spat out his coffee. What the hell?!? Were they that desperate to figure him out that they would resort to measures like this? Whatever the case, he sure as hell wasn’t looking away from his computer now, not if Gotou had photos of those two in bathing suits. 

“They both look terrible and are emotionally scarring. If you use either of those, you’ll traumatize people. And for the record, the captain and the lieutenant are the last two people I would ever want to see in a swimsuit.” 

“Well which would you like to see less, then?” Gotou persisted. 

“Both,” Fushimi said with a shudder. 

“Perhaps swimsuits aren’t the best choice for the calendar,” Akiyama said, coming to join them. “Is there some other clothing you like seeing on people that you think would be good?” 

“Oh, yeah, like lingerie!” Hidaka suggested from a few desks away. 

“Maybe formal wear would be nice?” Enomoto input. 

“Casual clothes!” Doumyouji called. 

“Idiot, casual clothes can be just about anything,” Fuse snapped. 

“Biker leathers,” Akiyama said, and despite his voice having been barely audible even to Fushimi who was only a few feet away, everyone somehow heard and turned to stare at him. Even Fushimi gave up avoiding looking at him and Gotou, though thankfully whatever horrific images Gotou had produced had been hidden from sight. 

“I think we just learned a lot more about Akiyama’s tastes than Fushimi-san’s,” Doumyouji finally said. Akiyama blushed. 

“It was just a suggestion!” he yelped. 

“Hey Benzai, didn’t you used to have a motorcycle?” Kamo asked. 

“No comment,” Benzai replied. 

“Well anyway, did any of those sound good to you?” Gotou asked, turning back to Fushimi. Fushimi hurriedly spun back to face his computer. It was best not to make eye contact with this bunch. 

“No,” Fushimi said stonily, “as I have no desire to see either of those persons outside of uniform. If they absolutely must be depicted wearing something else, I would have to request it be heavy winter coats that completely mask the wearer’s identity.” 

“Well what if it wasn’t them?” Akiyama asked. 

“Ditto,” Fushimi said. 

“Even someone you found attractive?” Benzai pressed. 

“Not everyone likes to jerk themself off to pictures of others the way some of you do,” Fushimi said blandly. He got many protests, and one whispered, “How did he know?” that’s origin couldn’t be traced since there had been too many voices to pinpoint it. 

“Okay, but-” Gotou began, about to launch into some new vein of inquiry, but he was interrupted when every PDA in the room began to chime at them. Fushimi checked his, and clicked his tongue. It looked like his updates weren’t getting done today, because there was an emergency summons. Fushimi left his desk and followed after his coworkers as they all headed for the lecture hall where mission briefs were held. 

When they arrived, Fushimi was surprised to see the reds were all present as well. He looked for Misaki, hoping to claim the seat next to him, but Misaki was sandwiched between Kusanagi and another scrawny blonde with long shaggy hair, the same guy he’d been fighting alongside the day before. Keeping his disappointment contained, Fushimi settled for his usual position next to Awashima. 

As soon as Fushimi and the other blue officers were seated, the captain stepped up to the podium to begin the brief. 

“Thank you for your prompt arrivals,” the captain began. “Since I know some of you do not appreciate formalities and since time is of the essence, I will be succinct. First off, the Red King has agreed to officially ally himself with us and the other primary clans. The ranks of his clansmen- who will be known as the Homra unit- will be determined once the proper forms are filed and processed, but they will be taking charge in the operation you are about to be briefed on, so please follow their directions accordingly. Which leads me to the second order of business, which is the mission we are here to be briefed on. As I said, this operation is the Homra unit’s and those of you from the Scepter 4 unit are to assist them as directed. With that said, I will turn things over to the red clan to explain this operation.” 

The speech was hardly succinct, but for the captain, it was miraculously short. The captain was the kind of person who, if asked to summarize a picture book, would come back three days later with a detailed essay that was longer than Tolstoy’s “War and Peace”. As the captain took a seat, Kusanagi got up and took to the stage. 

“As I understand it, everyone here has heard that there’s a good chance the secondaries all brought their Slates with them, right?” Kusanagi began. Many audience members nodded. “We’ve had word about sightings of these Slates in the past, but always the sources are questionable, or they weren’t entirely sure what they saw, or the Slates were in transit. We now have it on good authority that the Slate belonging to the Yellow King is hidden in the pleasure district. However, it could be moved at any time, so we have to act fast. Basically, the plan is this: Homra, let’s do what we do best.” Many of the red clansmen cheered or whistled. Kusanagi waited for them to quiet down, then finished. “Scepter 4, you guys will go in and get the Slate once we’ve heated things up and gotten ‘em in disarray.” 

“So wait, we’re just along to do the heavy lifting?” Doumyouji asked. 

“Well we can always switch roles,” Kusanagi replied, a glint in his eye that suggested arguing with him had been a bad idea. “How are you at diversionary tactics? Do you know how to lure your enemies away from their posts, how to keep them following you, how to make them think they have the advantage and then turn the tables on them? Oh, and in case you missed it, this is the Yellow King’s slate. You may recall the yellows specialize in distance attacks, so I hope you’re good at running and not getting hit.” 

“‘Sides, if all we needed was heavy lifting, we’d just go hire a bunch of looters,” Misaki added from where he was slouched down in his seat. 

“No we wouldn’t,” Kusanagi countered. “Looters would undoubtedly try to steal the Slate. The only good thing is they wouldn’t get more than ten feet before they got into a fight over who got to keep the Slate and started killing each other out of rivalry, but that would still leave us without anyone to move the Slate. Anyway, the Slate’s in a love hotel called Aphrodisiac, so we should get going.” 

“Just a moment,” Awashima said, standing. “I think your plan could be more efficiently carried out if everyone was carrying comms units. That way our two clans can communicate in the field and if there are any problems, appropriate actions can be taken.” 

“Alright, provided you can get everyone equipped quickly,” Kusanagi replied. 

It took all of five minutes to get the comms units passed out. The Scepter 4 unit had plenty of practice at this after all. Anna and Totsuka stayed behind, as did the captain, but otherwise all the reds and all the Scepter 4 unit officers went, moving through the city like a pack of wolves on the hunt. 

After the comms had been passed out, Misaki had been sent ahead on his skateboard to scout out different positions for everyone to attack from, and throughout the journey his voice could be heard in their ears as he explained how to access different points. It surprised Fushimi, to hear his boyfriend giving orders in a calm and professional manner. Misaki’s emotions ran high, and he tended to shout a lot, but the voice on the comms was almost unrecognizable in its cool confidence. It carried authority, and while Misaki was good at taking charge, Fushimi had never seen him as someone who held power. 

When they all arrived, the first thing the members of Scepter 4 noticed was that the love hotel had a rather small entrance. 

“That door’s gonna be a death trap,” Fuse said over the comms. “Not to mention we’ll have one hell of a time getting the Slate out. There’s gotta be a delivery entrance somewhere, why don’t we use that instead?” 

“Don’t worry about the door, Mikoto will take care of it,” Kusanagi said. “And the delivery entrance is no good. This place shares a loading zone with at least five other businesses, meaning they’ve got plenty of places to hide in wait of an ambush back there. Not to mention they’ll be expecting any trouble to come from that route. Now, is everyone in place?” 

No one responded, which was akin to an affirmative answer. 

“Alright,” Kusanagi replied. “Yata-chan, you’re up.” 

Fushimi wanted to ask what the hell that was supposed to mean, but he got his answer all too quickly, whether he wanted it or not. 

“Heh,” was all Misaki said into the comms, and then seconds later a shape came dropping through the fog, cutting through almost audibly. The figure managed to angle itself so as to hit the door directly, smashing it completely in a burst of red aura. Fushimi didn’t like the recklessness of the action, especially not when it was his Misaki who was the one performing it. The other reds present, with the exception of Mikoto and Kusanagi, poured in after him, and then all was still. Fushimi waited tensely for the long minutes until a voice came over the comms confirming the first floor was clear. 

“Good, start drawing them out,” Kusanagi ordered from his spot on the sidelines. 

If Fushimi had been alarmed before, the chaos that ensued at that order all but terrified him. The building shook with explosions, and in places, flames began to lick at the walls, making Fushimi wonder if he and his colleagues would really be safe going in to retrieve the Slate. The reds began reappearing one at a time, fleeing through holes they made in the wall as angry yellows followed in pursuit. But even as the love hotel became a demolition zone, Misaki did not reappear, making Fushimi sweat. 

Yet even as the reds got the yellows to chase them out of sight, the order to move in was not given. Fushimi began to scratch at his chest in impatience, annoyed that the habit was coming back even though he had Misaki back and didn’t need to scratch the skin above his heart to feel anything. But he couldn’t help it: he was scared. What if Misaki hadn’t come out because he was gravely injured, what if he’d come across a King and was on the verge of getting killed? How could Misaki do this to him? 

“Slate’s in the basement, in a store room on the east side,” Misaki’s voice said quietly through the comms. “No sign of any Kings, but there’s plenty of small fry so wait for my signal to head in.” 

“Roger,” Kusanagi said. 

Misaki’s “signal” was apparently another, more distant explosion, because as soon as that sounded Kusanagi was nodding to Mikoto, who got to his feet and stretched, cracking his neck as his aura flared around him, causing the nearest blues to flinch back. 

“Another reason not to take the service entrance,” Kusanagi said idly. “It’s a great route to take when leading them on a run-around. Everyone get ready, once Mikoto’s taken care of our entrance, we need to move fast.” 

Mikoto strode forward, his aura only intensifying with each step, shaking the ground and leaving cracks in the pavement as he walked. He stopped about ten feet away from the entrance, but his aura continued forward in a rush that blasted open the front of the building, leaving a gaping hole at least twenty feet wide and exposing two different rooms on the first floor, the floor of the second, and lots of rebar. He tilted his head back, looking over his shoulder to say, “There ya go,” like he’d merely done some simple, mundane task like retrieving a child’s kite from a tree or grabbing something off a high shelf for someone shorter than him. 

“And let’s go,” Kusanagi said, leading the way forward. Awashima followed in his wake, and the rest of the blues remembered that they were supposed to take orders from the bartender, at least for the course of this mission. 

They used the stairwells to help them identify which side of the building was east, and headed down to the basement to get the Slate. They checked every storage room on the east side of the building, but there was no sign of the Slate. 

“Okay, we have three possibilities,” Kusanagi said with a heavy sigh. “One, the yellows have already moved the Slate. However, there’s no signs of fighting around here, so I think we’re just in the wrong place meaning that either two, there’s multiple underground levels, or three, that idiot got his directions wrong. I’m personally gunning for option three. Let’s try the west side and if we don’t see anything there then we’ll have to abort.” 

“Understood,” Awashima said, because she was always conscious of the proper formalities and insisted on observing them. 

It turned out that Misaki messing up east and west was exactly what had happened. They took a corridor that bisected the basement, and even before they exited it they saw signs of fighting, and as soon as they exited it they ran into a group of tense looking yellows. A hail of fireballs took care of them before they could so much as shout, and the blues and Kusanagi proceeded forward, using the utmost stealth as they went. They were able to clear out the area and find the Slate without any problems. 

Fushimi was surprised at the size of the Slate they found. He’d seen the Dresden Slate itself once, and that Slate was huge, dwarfing a person. It had a whole room to itself in Mihashira Tower, and it was a large room, big enough to fit a small house in. But the Slate of the Yellow King was miniscule in comparison- it was about a foot thick, but couldn’t have been larger than two feet wide and four feet long. In fact, if it weren’t for the power Fushimi could feel radiating from the Slate, he would have suspected it was a phony. 

The Slate was situated on an industrial dolly, and Hidaka and Gotou were assigned the duty of pushing it while the rest of them would keep an eye out for enemies. Kusanagi and Awashima went on ahead to clear a path to the elevators, and they were on their way back to the ground floor in no time. Not all of them could fit in the elevator, so Kusanagi and Awashima stayed with the Slate and its bearers while the rest of them took the stairs. They had to take out two yellows, but otherwise, the exit route was clear. 

After picking up Mikoto, the group started back to base, on high alert as they spirited their purloined Slate to safety. When they were about two-thirds of the way back, Kusanagi gave the reds the order to disengage and retreat. Within an hour, everyone was back at the base, and the Slate was under guard until it could be transferred to the Gold King’s possession the following day. In other words, the mission had been a complete and total success. 

* * *

Yata was still riding high from the thrill of the battle and the hum of his aura in his veins when he got back to his room. He was a little tired, but otherwise feeling great. He’d found Saru, it looked like his clan would be staying at the blue base- where Saru was- for a while yet, and they’d just had a really successful mission. With any luck, they could now find a way to stop the Yellow King’s power, and while his clansmen would still have their auras, he wouldn’t be able to make any more clansmen. As far as Yata was concerned, life was fucking great. 

He had barely gotten through the door and was just sinking down gratefully onto the nest of blankets he’d made himself on the floor when there was a knock on the door, sharp and demanding. Yata grinned. Even when he was just knocking on a door Saru was still unmistakable. 

He got up and opened the door, but before he could say anything Saru was shoving past him into the room, taking hold of the door and shutting it firmly behind himself. His eyes were stormy as he surveyed the room, taking in the blanket nest Yata had made and the skateboard and bat propped against the wall. 

“There is a bed in this room, or did your powers of observation fail to note that?” Saru drawled sarcastically. Between his tone and his eyes Yata could tell he was in a really bad mood. Yata had to wonder what would have pissed Saru off when things were going so well. 

“Yeah well not all of us have been staying in such cushy places the past year,” Yata replied, teasing gently. Saru’s face remained stony, and Yata sighed before continuing with the honest answer. “Though actually, I guess it’s kinda stupid, but since the few times we were in places that did have beds it just made me miss you more, I kinda promised myself I wouldn’t sleep in a bed until it could be next to you again.” He smiled wryly at Saru, but Saru just continued to glare at the blankets on the floor like they were the source of whatever sour mood he was in. 

“Um, Saru?” Yata asked, starting to get worried. “You okay?” 

“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that,” Saru spat, turning his glare on Yata. His eyes burned like they were full of Mikoto-san’s fire, only cold, so icy cold that Yata was frozen, his throat working for several moments before he could finally respond. 

“What?” he said intelligently. But what else was he supposed to say? He knew that sleeping on the floor because he didn’t like being alone on the mattress was silly, but that wasn’t cause for Saru to go off on him like this. Clearly there was something else, but Yata couldn’t think what it could possibly be. 

“I _said_ ‘You’re a fucking idiot’, idiot,” Saru snapped. “What the hell were you thinking, trying to take on an entire fucking secondary clan like that?” 

“What the hell? Saru, I didn’t take on the entire yellow clan, hell, it wasn’t even that bad a fight. In fact, it was pretty easy, all things considered.” 

“Well that’s great,” Saru drawled. “But may I remind you that you’re not fucking indestructible? Quit being so goddamn reckless, Misaki!” Saru was fighting to keep his voice down, and if it weren’t for the threat of people hearing through the walls, Yata was sure he’d be shouting at this point. 

“I’m just doing my part,” Yata insisted stubbornly. “Someone needed to find the Slate for you guys, and I can move the fastest with my skateboard, plus, I’m the best fighter after Kusanagi-san and Mikoto-san. I can handle myself, Saru.” 

“And what if the Yellow King had actually been there, huh? What then?” Saru snarled. “Are you saying you could face down a King, all on your own? Don’t delude yourself Misaki.” 

“If he had been there, I would have called in Mikoto, I’m not stupid!” Yata said, his voice dropping to a hiss as his own anger began to rise. “But what the hell is your problem? The mission was a success, why can’t you be happy like everyone else? Even if you don’t want to celebrate, that doesn’t mean you get to come be bitchy at me!” 

“Happy? Why the hell would I be happy when I could have lost you? Goddamnit Misaki, you fucking jumped off a building, you rushed into a hostile environment without even looking, you knowingly went straight into the thick of things, if you’re always that reckless it’s a fucking miracle you’re still alive. Maybe I would have been better off if we hadn’t found each other again because at this rate it won’t matter that we did because you’re going to get yourself killed!” 

Oh. So that’s how it was, huh? Fucking Saruhiko. 

“Get out,” Yata said, barely keeping his voice steady. 

“Why, don’t like what you’re hearing, Misaki?” Saru sneered. “Does the truth bother you?” 

“Yeah, it does,” Yata replied. “Because I thought you of all people wouldn’t think that way, but I guess it was a bit much to expect of you, huh? After all, you gave up on me once before, it shouldn’t really be a surprise that you’ll be so quick to write me off as dead again. Now hurry up and leave.” 

“Excuse me? Since when have I ever given up on you?” Saru asked. 

“You thought I was dead, Saru. Fucking dead. It never even occurred to you that I could be alive, did it? You don’t have any faith in me, do you? Even now, when I’m right here in front of you, I survived and found you, and you still think I can’t take care of myself. And you have the balls to get mad at me for it? Fuck you Saru. I spent a whole fucking year looking for you. I never stopped. Do you think it never crossed my mind that maybe you were dead? Because it did. Kusanagi-san even told me how bad the chances were of you still being alive if you’d stayed in the city. But I kept looking, because I believed in you. You’re fucking smart, so I knew you could think your way out of any trouble. I trusted you to survive. But you? You won’t ever trust me, will you? You’re just like everyone else: you look at me and see someone weak. You were supposed to be the one person who was different, but I guess I was wrong. Stupid me, huh?” Yata laughed bitterly, tasting bile from Saru’s words and the words he himself was uttering right then. He swallowed it, and continued. “Maybe you’re right, maybe it really _would_ have been better if we hadn’t found each other, because right now, I can’t even stand the sight of you. Get out, Saru. Just leave me the fuck alone already.” 

Yata felt like he was breaking. He half expected to look down and see pieces of himself- his fingers, maybe- lying on the floor, having fallen off. He was on the verge of tears, and felt like if this conversation went on any longer he would scream. He just hurt so much right now. Ever since he’d come out, he’d been dealing with people who still tried to treat him as a girl. Some of them did it unconsciously, still stuck with the image they’d had of him in the past, but some did it on purpose, and it always stung. He’d gotten used to ignoring it, in being proud of who he was regardless of what they said, and Saru had always been the person by his side, making snide comments to put those people in their place. And now Saru was doing almost the same exact thing. It was the worst kind of betrayal Yata had ever experienced. 

Saru, meanwhile, looked as furious as he was at the start of the argument. It was just rubbing salt in the wound he’d just given Yata, because it seemed that he either didn’t understand or didn’t care about how he was hurting him. Thankfully, he chose to listen to Yata’s requests and leave, but not without one final parting jibe. 

“Yeah well pardon me for actually caring. I didn’t realize I’m not allowed to love you at all anymore.” 

The door shut behind him, and Yata immediately burrowed down into his blanket nest as he succumbed to hot angry tears. He knew that those last words were Saru’s anger talking for him, but it still infuriated him. How dare Saru say that, when Saru was the one who’d asked to keep their relationship secret? Saru was the one who was constantly pushing Yata away, even when he clung to him like his very life depended on merging into a single person. He was the one who was always prickly, so why was it that the moment Yata pointed out how unreasonable Saru was being, Yata ended up being the unreasonable one? Asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some lighthearted, silly clan mome- oh look the angst is back.  
> Also sorry I suck so much at writing battle scenes.


	7. Chapter 7

It had been three days since the mission to take the Slate of the Yellow King and three days since his fight with Misaki. Three days of radio silence between them. Fushimi kept himself busy with work, and Misaki kept himself surrounded by the pack of reds, and it was fine. It wasn’t like it was any different from how it had been for the past year, right? 

Except Fushimi felt like he was going crazy. The few times he’d encountered Misaki, the red had pointedly avoided his gaze, and he’d ended up feeling the need to do the same. It didn’t help that he knew he was the one at fault, but he’d never been good at apologies, and especially not now when he’d said the things he’d said. He’d been deliberately hurtful, cruel even, and it had been completely unwarranted and he knew that. But at the same time, it wasn’t like his fears were completely unfounded. He’d come so close to losing Misaki a year ago, no matter what Misaki said. And even though he’d known the facts, known that at the time of the Damocles Down, Misaki was supposed to have been in the destruction zone, he _had_ still hoped for a better outcome. Even after he’d cleared out their apartment, he’d still gone back several times, hoping he’d see Misaki there, or maybe some sort of note, but there was never anything. Just the grave their one-time home had become. And every time, it had broken his heart anew, made him feel his loss all over again. In the end, not holding onto hope had been easier, less painful. 

And even if the circumstances hadn’t been what they once were, Fushimi had been conditioned to believe that things were always impermanent. His father had seen to that. The more Fushimi loved something, the sooner it was taken away from him. He’d taught himself never to care, only to have Misaki come along and force him to forget what he knew, forget that he wasn’t allowed to have special things. Misaki had smashed through Fushimi’s defenses like they were made of paper, and while he had done a good job helping to heal the damage from Fushimi’s childhood, that fear still persisted. It would always be there, and Misaki knew it. Or he should know it anyway, based on how many times he’d comforted Fushimi from nightmares of losing his special person who had been his light in the dark. 

Fushimi couldn’t apologize. But he also couldn’t bear for things to remain as they were. Thank god for the distraction of work. 

Presently, Fushimi was looking over the latest intel. He tried to ignore the fact that some of it had come from the Homra unit’s resources, and had most likely been obtained by Misaki on a visit to Ashinaka Island or something. The secondaries had been laying low, clearly unnerved by the taking of the Yellow King’s Slate. In some ways, it was satisfying, seeing that their operation had yielded such fruitful results. In some ways though, it was maddening, because Fushimi could have used a good fight right about then. With all his pent-up frustration resulting from his argument with Misaki, some senseless violence sounded good to him. 

It was ironic, how he’d accused Misaki of being reckless when he himself was just as bad, if not worse. After all, for the past year, death had only been a means of reuniting with his beloved, so there had been no need to fear it. He’d taken all sorts of risks, because if he died fulfilling a mission then he would be helping to avenge Misaki and finally ending his pain, one way or another, at the same time. It had sounded almost blissful to him. Even now that he knew better, the same disregard for personal wellbeing was still ingrained into him, and his fight with Misaki made it even harder to care about himself. 

“Hey, Fushimi-san?” Doumyouji said, and Fushimi just knew the twit was coming with some new scheme to try and pry information from him so that they could set him and Misaki up. They’d kept at it over the last few days, renewing their vigor as they noticed how he was suddenly even more snippy than usual, and how his foul temper coincided with his recent avoidance of the red vanguard. He was in no mood to deal with such things. 

“Just fuck off, Doumyouji!” he shouted, turning to level the blue with a manic glare. He was tired, had barely slept since the argument, and he was sick of everyone prying into his personal affairs. He just wanted to rewind, go back to the morning of the Damocles Down and keep Misaki in bed with him. Everything had been fine, back then. He wanted that back. 

“Er, sorry, but Hirasaka from the Jungle unit just stopped by with a report. It’s marked urgent. She said to give it to you directly.” 

Fushimi clicked his tongue and snatched the report from Doumyouji, not bothering to thank him or apologize for being tetchy with him. If he hadn’t apologized to Misaki, then why the hell would he waste his breath saying sorry to someone who was a constant thorn in his side? He pored over the report, scanning it quickly only to realize he hadn’t processed what he’d just read. The words swam a bit as he tried to look at it a second time, and he paused to pinch the bridge of his nose and take a deep breath, trying to calm down. A glance told him his coffee mug was empty. He should refill it, but that was so much effort. Besides, he had an urgent report to look at. 

“Here you go, sir,” Doumyouji’s voice said at his elbow, and he almost bit the guy’s head off again before he noticed that Doumyouji was placing a Styrofoam cup on his desk, filled to the brim with the very thing Fushimi needed. Doumyouji was already backing away, and Fushimi grunted, the closest he could come to thanks at the moment. Perhaps he had overreacted a bit to Doumyouji a minute ago. But now was not the time to acknowledge that. He took the coffee and sipped gratefully, not even caring when it scalded his tongue. That just helped him with wakefulness. He took another look at the report, gulping some more life-juice, and almost choked. He coughed, slamming the Styrofoam cup down on his desk so hard that some of the liquid sloshed over the edge. He heard a quiet “shit I musta messed it up somehow,” but he wasn’t listening, he was looking at the clock, trying to remember if the captain had anything scheduled for today that would affect his movements. 

“Is the captain in his office right now?” Fushimi demanded, looking around at his colleagues wildly. 

“Uh, yeah, he should be,” Benzai said uncertainly. “Unless he’s with the Red King…” 

Fushimi was already out the door, the report from Jungle in his hand. He wasted no time rushing to the captain’s office, throwing open the doors unceremoniously and earning himself a look of reproach from Awashima. Yeah, she wouldn’t approve his wild entrance. Too bad. This was important. 

“The Pink King is missing,” Fushimi announced, slapping the report onto the captain’s desk, covering a portion of the puzzle the captain was assembling. 

“Oya, how distressing,” the captain said without even a hint of actual unease in his voice. It was hard to tell if he was reacting to Fushimi’s proclamation or the fact that his puzzle wasn’t entirely visible anymore. Not that the captain needed to see his puzzles to do them. He was the type of person who would figure out a way to complete a jigsaw puzzle while blindfolded, and in less time than it would take him to do it normally, just to show off. 

“The Jungle unit’s spies lost track of his whereabouts yesterday, and he hasn’t reported back to the other Kings,” Fushimi continued. “The pinks are in an absolute uproar, and the other Kings have greatly increased their patrols. With us in possession of the Yellow Slate and the Pink King missing, we could-” 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Fushimi-kun,” Munakata interrupted. “Haven’t you heard the proverb that the wounded animal is the most dangerous? Just because our enemies are currently struggling does not mean they will topple so easily. Besides, you are forgetting that we also have the Colorless King to worry about. His abilities are still unknown, and he has yet to make a move, making him a chief concern. No, we need to wait.” 

“But captain!” Fushimi protested, whining like a little brat whose parents told them to clean their room. He hated being so childish, but the captain was denying him everything he wanted right then. If they struck now, it would be the fight he’d been craving, and if they succeeded, it would end the war and he could have Misaki to himself again. He’d surely find a way to apologize if they just did this one thing. And yet the captain was saying no. 

“Fushimi-kun, do excuse my impertinence in asking, but are you sure your judgment can be trusted at the moment?” Munakata replied, lifting the report just enough to put another puzzle piece in place. 

“My judgment is fine!” Fushimi snapped. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Munakata said. “But do keep in mind that anger can cloud the mind, as can sleep deprivation. You will feel that your thinking is still perfectly rational, even while your decision-making process makes you into a danger to yourself. So while your judgment may be fine, forgive me if I recommend you get some sleep and speak with Yata-kun before I heed your advice on this matter.” 

“I’m fine, captain,” Fushimi spat. He was fine. Really. So what if the scratching had increased over the last three days to the point where the skin was scabbed after he’d made it bleed? So what if every time he tried to sleep he saw Misaki’s face wearing that same hurt look Fushimi had put there himself? He was _fine_ , damnit. 

“All the same, you need to get some rest. That is an order.” Munakata’s tone rarely deviated from its usual lilt, full of smug superiority and teasing playfulness. But as he spoke now, his voice hardened, and he was every inch a commanding officer. “I will take measures to ensure your cooperation if I must, Fushimi-kun.” 

Something made Fushimi glance towards Awashima, and he wondered if those measures would involve her at all. He hoped not. The Slate Lieutenant could be absolutely merciless. He reluctantly nodded. 

“Yes sir,” he said, hating that it had come to this. He really was fine. 

“Good. I’m sure Hisui will keep us informed of any further developments,” Munakata said, his usual tone back for a second, before it got an almost worried strain to it as he added, “I only hope that this is merely a case of the Pink King getting lost while drunk or having an affair he didn’t want discovered… I would much prefer this to be an innocent misunderstanding than any of the more ominous possibilities.” 

* * *

It turned out the captain was right, and it pissed Fushimi off to no end. He’d had to take some sleeping pills to get the rest he’d been ordered, but he finally managed it. And now, two days later, he could see the captain’s point. Any attack on the secondaries would need proper preparation. The primaries may have had the advantage at this point, but that didn’t mean the secondaries wouldn’t have any nasty surprises for them. After all, that was part of the reason the war had lasted for a full year now: if having the advantage was all it took, the secondaries would have wrested control of the Dresden Slates and claimed victory long ago. 

And, as the captain had pointed out, there was also the matter of the Colorless King. He was a total mystery thus far. What his plans were, and what motivated him were both mysteries, as were his powers and the size of his clan. Almost nothing was known of the Colorless King, and he was too big a variable for him to be simply factored out of the primaries’ plans. 

All in all, it was too many things the captain had been right about for Fushimi’s liking. Worse still, he had to report to the captain before he could return to duty. Talk about rotten luck. 

The captain smiled when Fushimi entered his office, although there was only a little smugness in that look. 

“It’s good to see you back on your feet, Fushimi-kun,” Munakata said. “We’ve all been working hard in your absence, but I’m afraid that no one else can quite manage to match your efficiency. Your presence was sorely missed.” 

Fushimi clicked his tongue. Two days off and there was already a backlog of work? What would those idiots ever do without him? 

“I apologize for the inconvenience,” he drawled. “I’ll try to do better in the future so as to prevent a recurrence of this event.” 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Munakata said. “Will you be heading back to work now?” he asked, and he had that look on his face like he already knew the answer. 

The word “yes” was on the tip of Fushimi’s tongue, but his throat closed up before it could be uttered, and, spontaneously, Fushimi changed his answer. 

“Actually, with the captain’s leave, I would like to speak with Slate Officer Yata from the Homra unit before returning to my duties,” Fushimi said, and the captain’s grin widened. Fushimi half expected the man to disappear and leave his grin behind, like the Cheshire Cat. 

“Permission granted,” Munakata said. He nodded, and Fushimi turned to go. 

“Oh, and Fushimi-kun?” Fushimi stopped, looking back over his shoulder to hear what the captain had to say. “Good luck.” 

On another day, Fushimi might have snorted or clicked his tongue, but today, he couldn’t. He needed that luck. A lump in his throat kept him from answering with words, but he nodded before stepping out of the office. Now to find Misaki. 

The first place Fushimi checked was Misaki’s dorm room. He didn’t expect him to be there, but he thought he’d check just in case. Besides, in a lot of ways it seemed fitting that he should apologize in the same place he’d hurt Misaki so. Unfortunately, his intuition seemed to be right, because no one answered the door, and there was no noise from within. 

After checking Misaki’s room, Fushimi wandered through the dorm building, checking all the lounges and walking slowly past all the rooms occupied by the Homra unit in case he happened to catch the sounds of activity within that might include Misaki. When that failed him as well, he tried the mess hall. 

Misaki wasn’t in the mess hall, but as he was leaving Fushimi caught sight of some of the other reds across the compound. He jogged over to them, setting aside his dignity enough that he even called out to them. They all turned to look at him as he approached, and a few of them nudged each other knowingly. A couple of them glared at him instead. It was pretty obvious which ones still wanted to set the two of them up and which ones had figured out that something had happened between the two of them and resented him for it. 

“Looking for Yata-san, right?” asked a guy with reddish dyed hair and a swagger in his step. Fushimi reluctantly nodded. 

“He’s not here,” a blonde foreigner said. 

“Do you know where he is?” Fushimi asked with all the patience he could muster. 

“Yea-” one of the reds began, but was silenced by another, one who had glared at Fushimi. The other reds looked at the one who had spoken and his silencer in unease, shifting their weight like they wanted to dance but didn’t have the confidence to. Finally, the one who had been fighting alongside Misaki when the red base had been attacked spoke up. 

“He went out,” the man said. “You just missed him.” 

“Thanks,” Fushimi said. He assumed that meant Ashinaka Island. With Misaki’s mobility, Fushimi would never catch up, but at least he could meet Misaki there and come back with him. 

As Fushimi left the reds behind, he heard one of them asking in a low voice if the speaker thought it was a good idea to tell Fushimi that, hopefully signifying that the man’s words were the truth. He’d hate to go all the way out to the island on a wild goose chase after all. 

Fushimi was almost to the gate when he saw two figures hazily outlined by the mist as they were admitted by the guards: Hisui and Sukuna. He stopped in his tracks. No. If they were here, then it would be cause for an official meeting. If there was an official meeting, then Fushimi would have to be present. And if Fushimi had to be present for an official meeting… 

Then he couldn’t go after Misaki. He mentally cursed the greens for their shitty timing. 

“I’d ask if you’re here to greet us, but I didn’t exactly send word that we were coming,” Hisui said as he caught sight of Fushimi. 

“No, but since you brought that thing with you I don’t really have any choice but to escort you through the base,” Fushimi replied, looking pointedly at Sukuna. 

“Shut up, asshat!” Sukuna snapped. Fushimi grinned. 

“I never said I was talking about you,” he replied. He turned to Hisui, ignoring the teen’s sputtering as he said, “I trust you didn’t have any difficulties on your way here.” 

“The enemy still has more patrols than usual,” Hisui stated. “ But they were not at a level that they posed any threat to us.” 

“Yeah, they were total noobs,” Sukuna snorted. 

“And the Gray King?” Fushimi asked. “How has he been?” 

“Iwa-san is doing as well as can be expected,” Hisui replied. “There have been no improvements, but his condition hasn’t deteriorated either.” 

“I suppose that’s for the best,” Fushimi sighed. “All the same, I think it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if he were able to wake up. Even if we lost his protection, I’m sure he’d still be an asset.” 

“I too would like him to wake up,” Hisui intoned . “Even if he became completely useless to our cause, I have always held filial affection for him.” 

Oh right. Hisui had been practically raised by the Gray King. Fushimi had forgotten. It surprised him, in a way, that the Green King would care about such things. Hisui normally acted so emotionless that Fushimi forgot the man was capable of feelings. 

Though even if Fushimi had remembered the connection between the two, it wasn’t like it was something he could understand. His father had been a piece of shit, and Misaki hadn’t had much better luck on that front either. Misaki’s birth father had disappeared, leaving his mother with debts to pay off, and his stepfather had had a really hard time getting past the whole “transgender” thing. According to Misaki, while his stepfather had always tried to be accepting, he was obviously uncomfortable whenever Misaki was around. It was slowly getting better, but it still made Misaki warier of returning home to visit than he should have been. Yeah, fathers weren’t a thing Fushimi understood. 

For all that Munakata wasn’t expecting Hisui’s arrival, he didn’t look surprised at his guests. 

“Welcome, Slate General Hisui of the Jungle unit, Slate Officer Sukuna of the same,” Munakata greeted, ever one to stand on ceremony. “I take it you have news of great importance?” 

“Affirmative,” Hisui declared. “Shall I explain the situation immediately or would you prefer to withdraw to a meeting room and meet up with the Red King so that he might be briefed on the matter as well?” 

“It would be more efficient to adjourn to the meeting room,” Munakata said. “Fushimi-kun, would you mind going to fetch Slate General Suoh and his entourage? And let Awashima-kun know as well please. Additionally, if you could send a clansman for some tea that would be most helpful.” Fushimi bowed and set to, snagging the first clansman he found to take care of the tea and sending a quick message to Awashima’s PDA. She responded that she was with Kusanagi, and that he would inform his King, and Fushimi was able to head to the meeting room almost immediately. Within minutes, Awashima, Kusanagi, and the Red King had all arrived. Kusanagi informed everyone that no one else would be representing their clan that day, and the meeting began. 

“My purpose in coming here today is to update you on the situation regarding the Pink King,” Hisui said, his voice as bland as ever. “He is still missing. Not only that, but the Brown King seems to have disappeared as well.” 

A collective gasp went through the room, afflicting Fushimi, Kusanagi, and Awashima. The Kings seemed to be immune, which made Fushimi resent them a little. Something was making the secondaries disappear, and it wasn’t them. It was possible, of course, that it could be the Gold King, but somehow that seemed unlikely. The Gold King had his secrets, but even he wouldn’t keep them in the dark on such an operation. More likely, it was an independent party, one that might not have meant the primary Kings any better than the secondaries. 

“What are the chances of it being an internal conflict?” Kusanagi asked. 

“Almost none,” Hisui replied. “The other three Kings were all accounted for at the time of the Brown King’s disappearance, and the Brown King was strong enough to fend off any attackers, unlike the Pink King. Furthermore, the Kings have withdrawn their forces entirely, as if anticipating an attack. Most likely this indicates fear.” 

“I don’t like it,” Mikoto stated, his eyes closed and his head tilted back as he reclined in his chair. 

“Agreed,” Munakata said. “While it is impossible to be certain what events may transpire from here on out, the one thing I think we can be certain of is that this is an ill wind blowing, for us as well as the secondary Kings. I wonder if we too shouldn’t consider fortifying our defenses and going on high alert.” 

“Indeed,” Hisui intoned. “In that regard, I would like the help of the other Kings in transferring the Gray King to a more secure location. I anticipate that our tunnels may not be safe for much longer. Their strength- the many pathways they contain- is also their chief weakness, as it is impossible to defend every entrance. I will be petitioning the Gold King in this regard as well.” 

“The Scepter 4 unit will be glad to offer you our assistance,” Munakata replied. “Both the Jungle unit and the Gray King have been helpful beyond measure, both this last year and in the years beforehand, and it would be remiss not to return the favor in any way we can.” 

“Thank you,” Hisui said, and there was almost the sound of gratitude in his normally monotonous voice. “Red King?” 

“M’kay,” Mikoto mumbled. Fushimi resisted the impulse to roll his eyes. Like the captain, Mikoto gave off that feeling that he could do the impossible, and Fushimi wouldn’t be surprised if Mikoto would be aware of Fushimi’s eye roll even though he himself had his eyes closed still. 

“My sincerest thanks to you both,” Hisui said. “My spies will keep us updated on any further changes in the situation, so-” 

He was interrupted by a knock on the door, and in walked in a man wearing a golden mask with tall rabbit ears protruding from the top. He wore dark robes, and had almost no presence. 

No matter how many times he saw the “rabbits”, the ranking officers in service to the Gold King, Fushimi still found them creepy beyond all reason. They moved in such a way that you didn’t notice it, spoke in such a way their voices seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, and had no individuality from person to person. If you never saw multiple rabbits in the same place, you would never know there was more than one. And even when you did see several at once, you still felt that it must be some sort of illusion and there was really just the one. All in all, they seemed inhuman, and while their appearance was innocuous enough, they still struck Fushimi as something straight out of a horror movie. 

“Greetings from his high eminence, the Gold King, Slate General Kokujouji, Second King of the Dresden Slate,” the rabbit said, his back bent at exactly the proper angle owed to the three Kings present. “My apologies for interrupting your council, but the Gold King requests your presence at Mihashira Tower, as soon as is convenient.” 

And that was another thing Fushimi hated about the rabbits, and really about the gold clan in general. Technically speaking, the Kings had equal authority to one another. But at the same time, technically speaking, the Gold and Silver Kings shared ultimate authority over the other Kings, and as such, the rabbits held a similar overwhelming status. The Gold King’s “request” wasn’t one they could ignore: it was an order, politely worded but still translating to “get your asses over here _now_.” 

“Of course,” Munakata said. “May I inquire as to the situation, though?” 

“You may,” the rabbit replied. “His excellency wished for me to inform you that he has had a visit from the Orange King.” 

* * *

If there was one thing Yata hated about Saru, it was that he tended to ignore his problems or run from them. Yata believed in fighting things head on, but Saru? Nope, that guy would never confront things so easily. And their argument resulted in a painful reminder of that: Saru was definitely avoiding him. 

Not that he wasn’t avoiding Saru as well. He knew Saru would need some space, but more importantly, Yata needed time to recover. Even if it had been his anger talking for him, Saru had said some really hurtful stuff, and some of it had hit a bit too close to home for comfort. No one was more aware of Yata’s own weaknesses than he himself was. They preyed on his mind, day in and day out, and there had been many times in the past year where he had been afraid that he would die before finding Saru. That thought had always been the one thing that pulled him through even the most dire circumstances, but it still haunted him even as it gave him strength. He wasn’t as strong as a lot of guys. He was shorter and scrawnier, and if it weren’t for his aura his fighting style wouldn’t even be half as effective as it was. Half the time he had to rely on a fucking bat to do any real damage for crying out loud! He’d always dreamed of being some superhero who fought bare-handed, but in the end he was a scrawny kid who fought like a thug without having the strength to back it up. Maybe after the war he should take some martial arts lessons. Assuming he was still alive then. 

After three days, Yata stopped seeing Saru altogether. At first it pissed him off, but then he’d heard Saru was confined to quarters because he hadn’t been taking care of himself. Once he heard that, it was hard not to take over the mess hall kitchens to make Saru some of his favorite foods to help him feel better. Saru had always joked that Yata’s limited nurturing instincts went into overdrive whenever he was worried, and that was certainly happening now. He could put his hurt aside if Saru needed him. 

But did Saru really need him? Over the next two days, Yata noticed how concerned the other blue officers looked, heard them say they needed to get things done to make things easier for Fushimi. They cared about Saru too, had been looking after him for the past year while Yata wasn’t around. What if Saru’s feelings had changed since then? What if that was the reason he didn’t want their relationship known: because he was no longer certain he reciprocated Yata’s feelings, or worse, had found someone else who meant more to him than Yata ever had? 

A small voice pointed out that Saru had gotten so angry at him because his feelings hadn’t changed, but Yata couldn’t bring himself to believe that voice. A year was a long time. Plenty could happen in a year. After all, within a year of reconnecting with Saru after middle school, the two of them had started dating, so it wasn’t so strange that Saru could fall out of love with him just as quickly as he’d fallen in love. 

Given the way his thoughts were spiraling dangerously, Yata was grateful when Kusanagi-san sent him to go ask Shiro if the refugees had heard anything about the situation with the Pink King. It gave him something to do, at least for a bit, and it required him to move which was just what he needed. Not to mention things on the island were always just a little bit hectic while being slow-paced at the same time, making it a nice place to be distracted. He wouldn’t think of Saru there. Wouldn’t worry about him, wouldn’t be angry at him, wouldn’t feel like crying every time his name got mentioned… For a little while at least, he could be released from all that emotion. 

The glide of his skateboard beneath him was bliss to Yata as he skated along, the noise of the wheels grating against the asphalt a soundtrack that his brain automatically tuned out. He went at a leisurely pace, trying to enjoy the day. Through the thick fog, he could just feel the sun’s rays trying to dispel the Gray King’s blessing, warming his skin and his heart. It would be summer soon. He’d always loved summer. Saru always complained that it was too hot, too sticky, but Yata had always liked the way the heat gave you an excuse to do fun things like go swimming and eat ice cream. There were also festivals and fireworks displays, but he supposed they wouldn’t be having any of those this year, not with the war still on. 

Just as Yata reached the bridge to Ashinaka and the mists began to thin a little as they got closer to the edge of what the Gray King had protected, he saw something that stopped him in his tracks. Swords of Damocles. Not one, but three of them, all clustered together. They were ahead of him, not quite to the island, but clearly a threat to the refugees there. One of the swords had a flowery design and glowed with pink aura, another was almost leaflike and glowed brown, and the third was a boxy design, black in color and without the same glow of the other two. The sight sent a pulse of fear through Yata. Three Kings, working together to attack his friends. He couldn’t face them alone, he knew that, but he also knew that without help the refugees would never stand a chance. They weren’t fighters, only Kuro was. Sure Kuro had been teaching the students, but so what? They didn’t have auras, and they were just beginners. 

Maybe Yata couldn’t hope to win against the power of a King, or three of them. But until actual help could arrive, someone needed to hold them off. Yata only wished he had a way to call Saru and tell him he was sorry for what he was about to do. But he didn’t; he could only call his clansmen with the disposable PDA he’d gotten after joining Homra, so that’s what he did. 

“Yata-chan, I’m kinda in the middle of something right now,” Kusanagi hissed when he answered. 

“Kusanagi-san Ashinaka’s under attack!” Yata burst out, already kicking his board back into motion. “There’s Kings here, three of them. I can see their Swords. I think the Pink King might be one of them. Looks like one of the others is-” 

“-Brown?” Kusanagi interrupted, his voice shaking a little. Yata blinked. He’d never heard the strategist sound _afraid_ before. 

“Yeah. I’m not sure about the third one though,” Yata admitted. “I don’t see an aura around it.” 

“Shit. We didn’t anticipate this. Are you already on the island?” 

“No, I’m heading over to help now.” 

“Don’t you dare go in there, you idiot! It’s too much for you to handle!” 

“I know that,” Yata laughed nervously. “But someone’s gotta help them. They’re just kids. But uh, could you- could you tell Saru that I’m sorry? And that I’m glad I met him, and I love him, and just- ugh.” Yata cut himself off, on the verge of crying. 

“Yata-chan, don’t-” Yata didn’t wait to hear what Kusanagi had to say. 

“A-anyway, thanks for everything. That’s for you. Him too, but also you and Mikoto-san and everyone else. Bye.” 

Yata hung up before he could embarrass himself any further, desperate to keep his emotions in check. Crying would only mess with his vision, and he couldn’t afford to disadvantage himself for the fight he was about to get into. If this was gonna be his last stand, he wanted to be sure it was going to count. 

As he approached the end of the bridge, Yata saw two people fighting. He knew without even checking that one of them was Kuro. The other must be one of the Kings. As for the other two Kings… Yata didn’t see them. They must have gone up ahead. He looked up, trying to see which King had remained, but all three Swords were present. He’d thought that Swords stayed with their Kings, hovering over them when their sanctums were activated, but either he’d thought wrong or two of the Kings had somehow gone invisible. 

Ah, whatever. He could just ask Kuro what was going on and act accordingly. He ollied into the air, flying forward with a burst of red aura and swinging his bat as he fell, striking at the unknown King’s head. The King sensed him at the last moment, countering him with a burst of aura. Yata was thrown back, and he and his skateboard rolled backwards, curving around the King as they did so to maneuver over to Kuro. 

“The Hell’s going on here?” Yata growled. 

“I’m not entirely certain of that myself,” Kuro admitted, panting a little. Yata had never seen Kuro get tired in a fight before. “All I can say for certain is that he seems to have the power of multiple Kings, though he doesn’t seem to have a full grasp on his powers.” 

“The Hell? How’s that fair?” Yata griped. 

“He doesn’t seem particularly interested in being ‘fair’,” Kuro replied bitterly. “He’s a most dishonorable individual.” 

“Well, good thing I’m here then, ‘cuz it sounds to me like he’s the kinda guy you’d have trouble with,” Yata replied, hefting his bat over his shoulder. 

“Normally I’d refuse, but I’m afraid that, if I’m to protect the things I care about, I’ll have to accept your help in this instance,” Kuro sighed. “Don’t get in my way, and don’t get killed.” 

“Same to you!” Yata cried, lunging forward to attack again. The King in front of him shuddered, and then suddenly he was surrounded by brown aura. 

“Look out!” Kuro shouted, and Yata felt a hand-like projection grab him and yank him back just before several vines burst through the ground and stabbed through the air where Yata had just been. His board, which Kuro hadn’t grabbed, was knocked flying by the vines, and Yata raced forward to retrieve it, wary of the vines. He may have been stupid, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t learn. He grabbed his board and lunged forward again, waiting for the vines to burst so that he could jump onto them, sliding down them as if he were grinding on a rail. He used his bat to fend off a few other vines, trying to reach the man who’d attacked his friends. The King seemed to realize his intentions, as the vine Yata was on began to shoot outward and pushed Yata farther from the King, Yata switched vines, and when the trick was repeated he began bouncing from one to another, spending more time in the air than on the vines. Kuro, meanwhile, had unsheathed the sword he always wore on his side, a weapon he saved as a last resort for battles with opponents who were stronger than he was. He and Yata had fought before, just friendly matches, and that sword had infuriatingly remained in its casing each and every time. Now it was out and slicing through vines, flashing around Kuro as he danced closer and closer to the King. As the King focused on Yata, Kuro got closer and closer, and Yata grinned. He was confident that, with the two of them fighting together like this, they stood a chance. Not only that, but they just might win. 

And then the vines vanished as the King shuddered again, and a cloud of pink surrounded him. Something about the cloud seemed ominous, and Yata instinctively retreated, noticing that Kuro did the same. Kuro put an arm up, blocking his nose and mouth with his forearm. Again, Yata ended up next to Kuro. 

“I guess that cloud is bad news?” he asked, as if his instincts weren’t already telling him that at a scream. 

“Indeed,” Kuro replied. “Earlier I was remiss enough to let another cloud like that touch my elbow, and my arm went numb for a minute. I’d also rather not to breathe it in.” 

“Well shit,” Yata said, but Kuro wasn’t listening. He had taken in a deep breath, and with a slight grunt he used another of his hand projectiles to attack, swinging it in almost whiplike motions, simultaneously attacking the King while trying to dispel the cloud. He succeeded in creating small gaps in the vapor around the King, but the cloud simply reformed, never allowing a clear path to the King. After a minute, Kuro pulled back, panting. The King grinned, and began advancing towards them. 

“Hey, think that cloud’ll burn?” Yata asked. 

“What?” Kuro asked. 

“Let’s try it,” Yata said. “Pull me back if this doesn’t work, okay?” 

“Wait, Yata-san, what are you-!” Kuro exclaimed, but Yata was already gliding forward, taking a snaking path toward the King to give himself more time to power his aura up as much as he could, feeling the heat of it threaten to blister his skin. He drove towards the King now, charging headlong into the cloud without a second thought. He heard a fearful yell behind him, and sensed one of the hand projectiles moving to grab him again, but his aura protected him from the cloud. The cloud was pushing down on it, forcing the red surrounding him to shrink, and he knew it wouldn’t hold for long, but it would be long enough. He could still attack the King like this. With a cocky grin, Yata continued forward, spinning sideways so that he could leave an avenue of attack open for Kuro while still pressing the King himself. The King took the chance to throw a punch at him, and Yata almost laughed at the pitiful nature of the blow: it was badly thrown, his fist wasn’t formed right, there was no real force in it- the King was more likely to hurt himself than his enemies with a punch like that. Yata easily dodged, then threw a few sharp jabs of his own, sending the King staggering back nervously. One of Kuro’s air hands grabbed the off-balanced King and threw him back. 

“Nice one!” Yata yelled back to him. 

“Be careful, that won’t be enough to take him out!” Kuro called back. The two of them advanced cautiously, the Gray King’s fog keeping them from seeing where the King had landed. 

When they saw the King, he was huddled over, and for a second Yata thought maybe the King had given up. He was about to congratulate Kuro when he noticed the brown aura surrounding the King, and felt something twining around his ankle. Before he could jump away, the vine had tugged, jerking him upward. He barely held onto his bat, crying out as his skateboard was left behind. He caught a glimpse of Kuro in a similar predicament, and then he was thrown sideways and slammed against one of the bridge’s support beams. As he was allowed to fall, he couldn’t help but think what a sadist this King was: if the King had simply thrown him off the bridge, then he wouldn’t have been able to get back up and fight. Clearly the King wanted to continue the fight until the bitter end- the bitter end for Yata and Kuro, that was. 

As Yata regained his feet, he used one hand to do a quick assessment, making sure he hadn’t broken anything. It seemed he was fine, at least for now. But as he looked over and saw Kuro doing the same, he suddenly felt sure that the King had a few more of those in him. He was less sure that he and Kuro had it in themselves to withstand as many as the King could dish out. Not only that, but he was beginning to feel the burn that came with extended usage of his aura. He and Kuro had done well thus far, but he didn’t know how much longer they could last. 

He just hoped that it was long enough that the people on the island at least could be saved.


	8. Chapter 8

It took a minute to clear up the confusion that followed the rabbit’s proclamation. The Orange King had _visited_ the Gold King? Surely there was some misunderstanding. Didn’t the rabbit mean she’d _attacked_? 

But no, according to the rabbit, the Orange King had come to Mihashira Tower peacefully. The Orange King who had been the most formidable of their foes had actually handed over her Slate and _surrendered_. It sounded surreal. So much so, that Fushimi was tempted to demand they check that the rabbit wasn’t a phony. But there was no way the unnaturalness of the rabbits could be replicated by a fake. The rabbit was real, and presumably, so was his news. 

Once everyone had accepted the rabbit’s words, they wasted no time in heading over to Mihashira Tower. They took one of the Scepter 4 unit’s armored vans, since there was plenty of room in the back for all three Kings and their accompanying officers. Fushimi secluded himself in the corner, praying Sukuna wouldn’t try and start something on the short drive to the tower. It was hardly the time or place for a fight, but Fushimi wouldn’t put anything past that brat. Thankfully, the atmosphere in the van was such that even the runt didn’t feel up to his usual self, and so the journey passed quietly. 

Upon arrival, they were escorted to a large room, devoid of any furnishings except some wall hangings and cushions for kneeling on. The room was already occupied by two other individuals: a tall old man who reeked of power, and a tiny yet elegant woman with choppily cut black hair and a disdainful atmosphere. The Gold King and the Orange King. Neither looked up at the new arrivals, waiting instead for them to settle. Fushimi took his place behind the captain, sandwiched between Awashima and Kusanagi. At least he wasn’t stuck next to the chibi. 

Once they were all seated, the Gold King spoke up. 

“I have been in conference with Schafer-san here, and she has had some interesting things to say,” the Gold King informed them. “From what she tells me, up until yesterday, she and the other secondary Kings were under the impression that we were behind the Pink King’s disappearance. However, as of yesterday, the Pink King reappeared, just as the Brown King disappeared. The Pink King claimed that he’d met the Colorless King, and that the Colorless King had taken over his body. When the Colorless King abandoned his body in favor of taking over the Brown King’s body, he took the Pink King’s power with him. In other words, the Colorless King currently has the power of three Kings, not one. 

“According to what the Pink King was able to tell his comrades,” the Gold King continued, “it seems that the Colorless King was hoping to attack the Silver King again. And since we recovered Weissman’s body a few days ago, we can assume that the Colorless King will be coming here. This is one of the reasons I have called you here.” 

“Pardon me, but one of?” Munakata asked. The Gold King snorted. 

“Insolent as always, Munakata-kun,” he replied. “Yes, there is another reason, which is that-” 

The Gold King fell silent as Kusanagi’s PDA went off. The Gold King turned to fix him with an unimpressed look, and Kusanagi fished the PDA out of his pocket. 

“So sorry,” Kusanagi apologized. “Keep going, I’ll handle this outside.” He retreated from the room, and Fushimi could just hear the low hum of his voice as he answered the call. 

The Gold King sighed, then picked up where he left off. 

“As I was saying, the other reason I asked you to come here is because the Orange King has surrendered, but on the condition that we offer her and the remaining invading secondary Kings asylum. They wish our protection from the Colorless King, lest he come after them to gain even more power before attacking the Silver King. This is a valid concern, and one that should occur to us as well. The Colorless King may target any of you, or the Gray King. I would like all of you to take shelter here as well, until the Colorless King is dealt with.” 

There was a moment of silence as that sank in, which was interrupted by Kusanagi’s voice from outside which was raised in stress. 

“Yata-chan, don’t go there! Goddamn it, stop talking and listen to me, you can’t-!” 

Kusanagi suddenly fell silent, and a moment later, he re-entered the room, staring at the PDA in his hand with a look of horror. Fushimi suddenly found himself suppressing a shiver, because from what he’d heard, Kusanagi had been talking to Misaki. 

“He hung up on me,” Kusanagi said weakly, and he swayed like he was about to fall over. 

“Is there a problem?” the Gold King asked. 

“Uh, yeah, there is,” Kusanagi said, finally looking up. “One of our guys just reported seeing three Swords of Damocles at Ashinaka Island. Pink, Brown, and Colorless. In other words, I don’t think the Seventh King is coming here.” 

“But why would he go there?” the Gold King mused. “The island is vacant.” 

“Er, begging your pardon, but it’s not,” Kusanagi said. “There’s a camp of refugees there, people who didn’t evacuate.” 

“But there’s still no reason for him to attack refugees,” the Gold King replied. 

“Unless he wanted to draw us out where he can get us,” Mikoto suddenly said. 

“Well then we just don’t go there. Simple,” Sukuna said, crossing his arms. 

“Unfortunately, no,” Munakata said. “We cannot sit idly by and let the Colorless King endanger innocent lives.” 

“‘M not letting him kill one of mine, neither,” Mikoto growled. “Don’t care ‘bout the rest of you, I’m goin’.” 

“Perhaps…” the Gold King said, then sighed. “I shall accompany you as well. The rabbits should be sufficient to handle the Orange King should she try anything.” He turned and spoke to the Orange King in another language- German, if Fushimi was hearing correctly. He was only able to pick up a few words, but he could guess the Gold King was letting her know something of the situation. She replied coolly, and the Gold King got to his feet, and the other Kings followed suit. Fushimi was surprised to see that Hisui seemed to intend on coming along, but he wouldn’t complain. If Misaki was in danger, Fushimi wanted anyone who could possibly help him there. 

They took the same armored van to the island as they had brought with them to the tower. As soon as they were all inside, both Awashima and Kusanagi had their PDAs out, using the time spent on the road to call subordinates and order them to the island. 

When they reached the bridge, the van stopped, unable to get past the unmanned toll booths on the bridge. They disembarked, Fushimi gritting his teeth as the others dawdled too much for his liking. It was all he could do to restrain himself from shoving them aside and running forward, desperate to be on time. He still hadn’t apologized to Misaki. He still had so much he wanted to say to his boyfriend, so much he wanted to do with him. He didn’t want what he’d said in their argument to be the last words he would ever say to Misaki either. 

As they trotted along the bridge, taking a pace that was disgustingly reasonable and not breakneck, the air cleared enough for them to see the Swords that had been reported. Fushimi had seen two of them before, in battles, but the third was unfamiliar to him. That must be the Sword of the Colorless King. The Swords remained stationary near the end of the bridge, and Fushimi could only hope that meant something good. 

* * *

Yata sailed through the air yet again, having been thrown back as he tried to make an opening for Kuro. He hadn’t succeeded in his endeavor though, he was sure of it. In his exhaustion, he was slowing down, and Kuro wasn’t doing any better. He tried to twist his body, find the right way to land in order to absorb the impact and keep from eating it, but his limbs weren’t obeying him quite right anymore. It seemed this was it, then. He would soon reach his limit, and then it would all be over. A small, morbid part of his mind wondered how it would end for him- would he be skewered by vines or thrown against a wall so hard his body broke and he died of shock or maybe he’d end up poisoned by that pink cloud… none of which sounded like very pleasant ways to go. 

He hit the ground painfully, his body somersaulting as he tumbled across the pavement, gashes opening up as his skin was torn. When he rolled to a stop there was someone standing over him, their face shaded by an umbrella. No, two people. He squinted, trying to recognize them. There was a jingling sound that seemed familiar… 

“Thank you for trying to protect us, Yata-san,” Shiro said. Ah. Of course it was him and Neko. The two of them and Kuro were pretty tight, after all. “You’ve done enough. We’ll take care of the rest. Neko, if you could retrieve Kuro for me?” 

“Nya-ha-ha,” Neko giggled, grinning just a little evilly as she spread her arms and flexed her fingers, and then out of nowhere, the bridge vanished, and they were in a labyrinth of warped mirrors, like something out of a funhouse. Neko moved away from where Shiro stood, and a few moments later she returned, dragging Kuro by the wrist. Kuro was limping, and he looked like he was doing about as well as Yata felt: like shit. The mirrors vanished, and they were back on the bridge. 

Shiro stepped forward, passing over Yata and making the red aware of the fact that he was still lying on his back where he’d landed. He struggled up onto his elbows, and saw Shiro had closed the umbrella and slung it casually over his shoulder as he approached the King. 

“Looking for me?” Shiro asked cheerfully, but there was a hint of threat in his voice. 

“Weissman,” the King giggled, and he shuddered yet again, only this time there were no vines or pink clouds. Something came out of his eye and began streaking towards the teen as his body fell to its knees. Shiro calmly opened his umbrella up, and a silver aura surrounded it, sending the white thing reeling back. 

Silver… 

“Wait a sec,” Yata said, looking up at Kuro and Neko. “I thought there were no silvers. Just their…” He trailed off as something caught his eye high up above them. There was a fourth sword now, a delicate affair studded with seven gems and crossed by a smooth curve of metal. 

“Silver King,” Kuro breathed. 

“Nyaa, Shiro doesn’t need to be a King,” Neko pouted. “Shiro is Neko’s Shiro.” 

In front of them, Shiro didn’t give a damn about whether or not they were taking this revelation well. He had closed his umbrella again, and was using it to slash at the white thing from the enemy King’s eye, knocking it back repeatedly. 

Seeing his friend fighting alone, Yata automatically forced himself to his feet, swaying a bit, but then he stopped. Even if he wanted to help Shiro, what exactly could he do right now? What Shiro was fighting didn’t seem to be something any of the rest of them could go up against. 

As Shiro knocked the white thing back again, Neko seemed to come to her own conclusions about helping Shiro, as she shouted, “Leave Neko’s Shiro alone!” and with a meow-like sound that was more feeling than actual sound, there were dozens of Shiro’s around them, appearing just as suddenly as the mirrors had. 

As the Shiros milled about, the white thing began diving towards them, cutting through them one at a time as it tried to find the real one in there. Yata looked over at Neko, meaning to ask if this was her doing, but saw two more Shiros instead. He looked down at himself and saw that his appearance had changed as well. He gulped, looking back at the white spirit, praying it didn’t come after the three of them. He had a bad feeling it wouldn’t end well for them if it did. 

The King’s power was beginning to thin the number of Shiros, and one of the Shiros beside Yata yowled, and with a cry of “Fukaaa!” the number of Shiros increased again. Strangely enough, eight of the new ones that appeared behind the King weren’t stationary like the rest; they approached steadily, until the spirit turned on them and one of them reached out and grabbed it. The projection writhed, but could not free itself. Its shape began to change, losing its snakelike length and becoming thicker, growing bigger and sprouting four legs until the new Shiro was holding a white fox. 

“I wasn’t expecting to find you here, Weissman,” said the Shiro who’d grabbed fox. 

“Lieutenant?” another Shiro asked breathlessly. A moment later, one of the Shiros turned towards Yata, Kuro, and Neko. “It’s alright, Neko,” he called. “You can undo it now, we got him.” 

Again, just as suddenly as the Shiros had appeared, they all vanished, leaving behind one Shiro and eight newcomers. There were three people Yata didn’t recognize: an old man, a pale teen, and a man who looked to be a few years older than Yata. The others were Mikoto-san, Kusanagi-san, the Blue King, the scary lady who worked for him, and Saru. The old man was holding the fox, and looking at Shiro with a bemused expression. 

“Feeling ill, Weissman?” he asked. “You don’t look yourself at all.” 

“Haha, very funny,” Shiro said, pouting a little. “It’s not exactly fun getting your body snatched from you, y’know.” 

“Is that what happened?” the old man asked. 

“Something like that,” Shiro said. “He tried to steal my power, but my power refused to be stolen and so we switched places instead.” 

“Well your body is safe at Mihashira Tower,” the old man said. “And as for this,” he said, lifting the fox that was trying to wriggle out of his hands, “I think I ought to be the one to deal with it. I don’t have much longer anyways, so I think it’s a safe bet that I won’t have a Damocles Down before I die.” 

“So be it,” Shiro said sadly, opening his umbrella and lifting it to shade himself with. 

The old man turned to the Blue King, saying, “Munakata-kun, if I may?” 

The Blue King seemed to know what the old man meant, because he unsheathed his saber and handed it over with a ceremonious flourish. The old man released the fox, which once again became the jagged streak it had been before, but before the spirit could so much as move the old man struck with lightning-like speed, stabbing into the spirit. With a scream, it vanished without a trace. Above them, the three swords disintegrated, leaving only Shiro’s Silver Sword, and a new Golden Sword hanging next to it. These last Swords too, vanished, leaving only the haze of the Gray King’s mist. 

So that was it, then. The island was safe, and Yata was still alive. He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. Now they just had to beat the other secondaries, and then the war would be over. 

Fast-approaching footsteps made Yata’s eyes open up again, and he was startled to see Saru bearing down on him. Oh. Right. Saru was probably pissed. He braced himself to get yelled at again, and when Saru reached out toward him he was sure he was about to get slapped, but then Saru grabbed his shoulder and pulled him in close for a hug. 

“Sorry,” Yata whispered when he’d remembered how to breathe again. 

“Idiot, don’t scare me like that,” Fushimi said back, his voice low and fierce. “I thought I was going to lose you for real.” 

“‘M really sorry, Saru,” Yata mumbled. 

“Yeah well next time you decide to take on a King with three Swords of Damocles, make sure you give me a chance to apologize for being an asshole first,” Saru grumbled. “Seriously, do you really think I’d be okay with you dying when that was the last thing I said to you? I’d have to learn necromancy just to make things right. And to chew you out.” 

“Nah, I’d just stick around as a ghost,” Yata joked. “Haunt your ass to the end of time. I’d never let you get any work done.” 

“Sounds miserable,” Saru murmured. “I bet you’d get me all keyed up all the time too, and since you’d be a ghost I wouldn’t even have any outlet.” 

“Yup. Sucks to be you, huh? You ain’t getting rid of me that easily.” Yata grinned into Saru’s shoulder, happy in this moment. 

“Good,” Saru said. “Because the reason I have such a hard time trusting you even though I know you’re strong is that you are the one thing I never want to lose, and so I’m always afraid it will happen.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m scared of losing you too,” Yata finally pushed his way free of the hug to look at Saru full-on, swaying as he did so. He didn’t think he had a concussion or anything, but damn was he tired. 

Of course Saru noticed Yata’s unsteadiness. 

“Sit down before you fall over,” he ordered. 

“I’m fine, just tired,” Yata complained, but he obediently sat because, as hard as he’d worked to get back on his feet, sitting sounded pretty good right about then. Saru helped him down, and took the spot next to him, supporting him. Yata leaned gratefully on his boyfriend, not caring if anyone looked over and saw them being affectionate. At this point he was just happy to be alive and with his boyfriend. Though now that he looked around, everyone else seemed to be preoccupied by Shiro and that old man that had killed the fox. The whole thing felt sorta surreal, like maybe this was some sort of fever dream. Maybe he’d really gotten killed and this was death’s way of compensating him: rather than flashing his life in front of him, it was showing him a happy end that could have happened. 

“I s’pose I shouldna gotten mad at you fer not trusting me,” Yata mumbled sleepily, his words slurring slightly. “‘Cuz I keep thinking that maybe yer gonna move on. Wouldn’t be weird, right? You’ve got all those pretty boys, so why would ya wanna stay wif me?” 

“The hell are you talking about idiot?” Saru grumbled, but his voice was gentle and he was stroking Yata’s hair. 

“Egzacly,” Yata continued. “’m an idyit. And those other guys ‘r smarter, right? So why would you stay in love with me?” He summoned up the strength to lift his head and look up at Saru. Saru stared back at him, the look on his face somewhere between horror struck and furious. 

“You really are an idiot,” Saru finally sighed, looking away. He pulled his hand back from Yata’s hair, and at first the redhead thought maybe he’d upset Saru so much the taller was gonna just leave him on his own, but then Saru was turning back to him, his hand closed around something retrieved from a pocket. He hesitated, then took one of Yata’s hands and pressed the object into it. “If my feelings had changed, I would never have held onto this,” he muttered, blushing a little. 

Yata brought his hand up to examine the object Saru had pressed into it. It was a small square box with rounded edges, made of soft material. The box was a little more than an inch long and wide, and not quite as tall as its horizontal dimensions. There was a hinge in the middle of one side, and a slit coming from it that ran around the edges of the box. It was a jewelry box, the kind that held a ring or earrings. Curiously, he opened it up and found a ring nestled within. It was a thick gold band, with a tiny ruby embedded. 

“It’s pretty,” Yata cooed sleepily. “Woulda thought looters woulda gotten all the jewelry around here by now.” 

“I’ve had it for a year,” Saru said. “You remember I asked you to get home quickly that day because I had a special surprise for you?” Yata nodded. “This was it. I was gonna ask you to marry me. Only then you just had to dawdle on your way home, didn’t you?” 

Yata laughed at that. It seemed they were reaching the point where they could joke about the worst event in their lives, which was nice. 

“Anyway, you should keep it,” Saru continued. “You can do whatever you want with it, but it’s not like I have any use for it, and it was always meant to be yours, and if you don’t take it I’ll probably just end up throwing it away which would be a waste, and… and I hope you’ll at least consider it. Marrying me, I mean. I’ll… I’ll even get down on one knee if you want. Later. The whole rigmarole. It’s stupid, but you’re worth it to me, so...” 

Typical Saru. That negative brain of his expected rejection, and so he had to take a roundabout way of asking the question that attempted to preserve his feelings by denying them. In a way, he was also trying to keep Yata from feeling like he was being forced to do what Saru wanted, but if anything, it almost felt like he was trying to force Yata to say no. Still, Yata could be pretty stubborn himself, and he hated being told what to do. 

“Psht, as if I’d ever have any other answer for you besides yes,” Yata snorted, trying to show some bluster to keep a hold on the gooey feelings that threatened to melt him. 

“Really?” Saru asked, his voice so full of hope it just about broke Yata’s heart. 

“Would I ever lie to you about something like this?” Yata asked. 

Saru didn’t answer, just leaned down and captured Yata’s lips in a kiss. 

* * *

They’d been about halfway across that damn bridge when a fourth Sword of Damocles had appeared, and the Gold King’s eyes had gone wide before he quickened their pace to a jog. Fushimi certainly wasn’t about to complain about that. They arrived to find a strange scene, with several copies of the teenage boy Yata had called Shiro standing around. There was a white streak moving about, almost like a floating snake or maybe a slow-moving bolt of lightning, and the Gold King had grabbed it. 

Fushimi had watched, transfixed, as the Colorless King was dealt with, and it was only afterwards that he noticed there was now only one “Shiro” and there, ahead of him, Misaki was standing with “Neko” and Yatogami. Misaki looked battered, like he’d be bruised for weeks, but he was alive and on his own feet, and Fushimi wasn’t waiting a second longer. He shoved past someone, he wasn’t really sure who at that point, and rushed forward, pulling Misaki into a hug. It was only after he had Misaki pressed up against him that it occurred to him that the hug might be unwanted, but Misaki wasn’t struggling, a sign that he was receptive to it. Misaki was never shy or hesitant about making it known when he disliked something. 

It was good to finally clear the air between them, to get the apologies out of the way and to even finally ask the question that had been waiting an entire year. Fushimi’s heart was singing, and as Misaki started to drift off against his shoulder, he redirected his boyfriend- his fiancee- so that Misaki ended up lying down with his head cradled in Fushimi’s lap. It was soothing for both of them, allowing Misaki to rest while calming Fushimi’s frazzled nerves. Around them, everyone else present was in motion, trying to deal with the aftermath of the battle with the Colorless King, but they might as well have been in a separate world from the two lovers. Every now and then someone would glance over and smile indulgently, but they were given their space, and Fushimi was grateful for it. 

Unfortunately, their quiet solitude could not last. After about ten minutes of blissful peace, the reinforcements from Scepter 4 and Homra arrived, and of course the first thing they honed in on was the red vanguard using the blue third-in-command as a lap pillow. Rather than reporting to their respective superior officers to receive orders, they flocked around the couple, smirking triumphantly. And wouldn’t you know it? Since Misaki was dozing that meant Fushimi had to put up with their bullshit all on his own. 

“You’re looking comfy there, Fushimi-san,” Doumyouji said, taking the lead with his usual brashness. “I don’t know about everyone else, but if you ask _me_ , I’d say you two would make a good couple. Maybe you should ask Yata-san out.” Most of the surrounding clansmen were nodding in agreement. 

“I’d compliment you on having your first-ever good idea,” Fushimi drawled, “but I’m afraid there’s just one problem with that suggestion.” 

“Well I’m sure you’ll be able to work it out,” Enomoto started to say, but was interrupted by a boisterous red. 

“Oh yeah? And what problem would that be?” 

Fushimi bit back a smile and instead forced himself to heave a sigh, as if reluctant. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the photograph, then held it out for the taking. 

“Wait, isn’t that the thing you look at before every mission?” Kamo asked. 

“The one that you get pissy about whenever we ask about it?” Benzai added. 

“If it’s something so private, are you sure you want to show it to us?” Akiyama finished. 

“Who cares? We might never get this chance again!” Doumyouji yelled, then snatched the folded paper from Fushimi. 

“Scoop, scoop!” Gotou chanted as Doumyouji unfolded the photograph with reckless abandon. As he started to undo the last fold, however, he suddenly screamed and dropped the paper like it had burned him. 

“What’s wrong, what is it?” various reds and blues clamored. 

“S-smiling,” Doumyouji stammered. “F-Fushimi-san was…” 

There was a moment of silence, and then a fedora-clad red said, “Aw, fuck it. Might as well.” He stooped and picked up the photo, carefully undoing the last fold and looking down at it. Everyone else clustered close, all trying to peer over his shoulder at once. 

“What the hell…?” another red asked. 

“Wait, Fushimi-san, is this…?” Kamo asked. 

“That’s a photograph of my boyfriend and me, taken about six months before the Shizume City Damocles Down,” Fushimi stated calmly. “In other words, there’d be no point in me asking Misaki out, as we’ve been dating the whole time.” 

“Wait, seriously?” a red gasped. 

“Oh no. No nonono, this can’t be right,” Doumyouji said. “I call foul.” 

“He’s right, there’s no evidence this picture was taken then,” Gotou agreed, nodding sagely. 

“First of all, note the complete lack of fog, proving it was indeed before the Damocles Down,” Fushimi said. “But if that’s not enough for you, you may notice part of a sign in the lower left corner, saying ‘-nicipal Park?’ That’s because the photo was taken at Lower Shizume Municipal Park, a place which was within the destruction zone of the Damocles Down.” 

“Hey, he’s right!” the skinny red who’d fought with Misaki said. “I know that park! And you can just see the dumpling shop that was across the street! They had seasonal mochi that was really good too…” 

“No way! It has to be fake!” Hidaka burst out. “Photos can be falsified, right? It’d be easy for Fushimi-san. He probably made that just to mess with us, and…” 

“Hidaka, he’s had that photo for the past year,” Benzai pointed out. “We’ve all seen him take it out and look at it before.” 

“But- but then that means we’ve been completely had!” Hidaka whined. “We went to all this trouble to try and set them up thinking they weren’t together!” 

“Ouch, when you put it that way, it really does smart,” a blonde, foreign-looking red murmured. 

“Exactly!” Doumyouji cried. “If that photo's not fake, then we look like total idiots, and-” 

He was interrupted by a low moan from Misaki. 

“Now look what you’ve done,” Fushimi chided, fingers automatically moving to brush Misaki’s hair back from his face. “Misaki needs his rest, and I’m sure the lieutenant has work for you all to do, so shoo.” 

“Bu-!” Doumyouji protested, but thankfully someone grabbed his elbow and dragged him away. The reds lingered a moment, but they too turned away, a few nodding as if in approval. Fushimi snorted. He didn’t need their approval. The only approval he needed was Misaki’s, and he’d already gotten that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: an epilogue.


	9. Chapter 9

Misaki’s family would be arriving on the first train bringing civilians back into the city. Fushimi had pulled a few strings to see to that, and to make sure they even got good seats on the train. Only the best for the Yata family. After all, they had raised the man he loved. 

It had been a few long months since the fight with the Colorless King on the bridge. There had been much to do since then. To start with, there was finalizing the cease of hostilities with the secondaries. After much negotiating, the secondary Kings were allowed to return to their home countries along with their clansmen and accompanying armies. The Yellow King ended up requesting permission to stay in Japan as a defector, since he feared he might face imprisonment or worse for returning without the Dresden Slate. 

After the secondaries had been dealt with, there was the matter of the Gray King. After a few weeks of research from the Silver King, they were able to temporarily disconnect him from the Slate, ebbing the flow of power from him and allowing him to wake up. Once he had recovered sufficiently, the Kings went into conference, discussing what was to be done to prevent future wars over the Slate. Fushimi was not privy to those discussions, as no one was allowed into the conference room except the Kings themselves. All he could say was that, the day after the Kings ended their discussions, the Silver King used a Damocles Down to break the Slate. His efforts were aided by the Gold, Red, and Blue Kings, though Hisui and the Gray King both refused to participate. Fushimi was initially shocked by the Kings’ decision, but in the end he agreed that the Slates would only continue to generate wars so long as they remained intact. He watched the Swords of Damocles dissolve as the Slate was destroyed, knowing this was the end of the sanctums, and felt something empty out inside of him. His aura was still there, but it was no longer tied to a King. It was alarming, but in some ways, it was a relief. Just as having an aura had been invigorating and fulfilling, it had also been suffocating, and he didn’t mind being able to breathe again. 

Once the Slate was destroyed, construction crews were cleared to come in and begin to repair the damage the past year had done. The clans were placed on guard duty, keeping an eye out for any straggling invaders who still wished to fight. It was boring work for the clansmen, and Fushimi spent most of his time distracting himself with other things, like fixing Misaki’s original PDA which had been broken a year ago, or using his own PDA to look up wedding ideas. Most of the themes and suggestions he found made him cringe, but he still took note of them in case Misaki liked them. He wanted Misaki to be happy, after all. 

And now, after months of work, civilians were being allowed to return. The construction work was by no means done, but the most important things had been taken care of. It would probably be years yet before the city returned to the thriving metropolis it had once been, but it would heal, and so would its residents. 

A memorial had also been built, dedicated to those who had been killed by the White King’s end, and when Fushimi had offered to meet the Yata family at the train station, Misaki’s mom had asked if they could go see it. Fushimi had agreed, because it would be the perfect stage for the day’s main event. 

The Yata family, like the other returning refugees, didn’t have much luggage with them. While many had tried to make new lives in the areas where they’d been resettled, it was nearly impossible to get out of the temporary housing they’d been placed in, and resources were tight. For most of the refugees, a year and a half hadn’t been enough time to restart, and so they were in the same situation they’d been when they’d evacuated. Misaki’s family all looked tired, the kind of deep weariness that comes from grief and loss. Fushimi supposed that was much the same way he’d looked before he’d found Misaki again. It made sense: Misaki had always been so bright and vivid, of course his energy bled into the lives of those who loved him. They smiled at Fushimi, sad but trying to carry on. 

No one spoke until they were in the car Fushimi had borrowed for this occasion. Misaki’s mom was the one who broke the silence. 

“You’re looking well, Fushimi-san,” she said. “Misaki would like that. He always worried about you, you know.” 

“I know,” Fushimi replied, sadness in his voice as he realized how much he must have troubled his fiancee in the past with his bad habits. 

“He really loved you,” Misaki’s mom continued. “You were all he would talk about when he came home.” 

Fushimi stayed silent. He’d heard all this before, back when he’d given her the news about Misaki and given her the things he and Misaki had shared that he hadn’t been able to destroy. He’d also heard it in various emails he’d exchanged with the woman over the past year and a half. 

There was a quiet half-sob from Mrs. Yata, and her husband reached out to comfort her. It was almost enough that Fushimi just broke down and told them everything right then and there, but no, Misaki had wanted to surprise them. 

They finally pulled up to the memorial, located where a half-demolished building had had to be cleared away. It was a sprawling garden, full of shaded groves where people could sit in privacy. The main attraction was a fountain, with water spewing from one basin into another and then waterfalling down in a large pool that sat still and reflective. Next to the pool were two small pyres, sheltered from the elements by curved shades, as well as a box filled with strips of paper you could write messages to the deceased on and burn, and a long tray containing hundreds of floating candles that could be lit for the dead. Behind the basins, on the side closest to the crater, a sculpture rose up, with curved metal shapes reminiscent of birds flying up to the sky. It was beautiful, and Fushimi and Misaki had come here a few times themselves as they remembered those who had truly been lost to the war: Misaki’s coworkers, a librarian who had always had books to recommend to Fushimi, the baristas at Fushimi’s favorite coffee shop, who had learned his order and took it without asking him for it so he didn’t have to be social before he had his coffee, various other friends and acquaintances they’d made through the years. 

As they pulled up, it was time to say something. Fushimi’s throat was tight with emotion, because he knew exactly what Misaki’s family was feeling, and how they would feel in a few minutes, and he had to swallow hard to be able to speak past it. 

“I- There’s something I wanted to show you here, before you look at the memorial,” he said. “It won’t take long. But… I think Misaki would like you to see it first.” 

Misaki’s mother nodded, and they got out of the car. Fushimi led the way into the garden, walking along the path until he just faintly caught sight of a person sitting huddled beneath a ginkgo that was almost bare from the late autumn winds. The person wore a uniform, one that was mostly black but had red accents: the uniform of the Homra unit. Even with the Slates gone, the current system was to remain in place until the Kings could officially transfer their authority over to those who had earned their power the hard way, meaning that the units remained intact and Homra had been forced to select uniforms. Fushimi had been very grateful to whoever had insisted on it, because it was a look that certainly suited Misaki. 

Misaki looked up as the group approached, then got to his feet, nervously fisting the hem of his jacket as he faced them. Fushimi could tell the moment Misaki’s family saw him, in part because of the way Misaki’s mother’s breath caught and they all stopped in their tracks, and partly because Misaki’s eyes widened just a little. Fushimi sidestepped, opening up a clear path between Misaki and his family, and the world seemed to stand still for a bit, with only a few leaves drifting down from the trees to show the passage of time. 

“Hey guys,” Misaki said when the silence was beginning to become too much to bear. He opened his mouth to say more, but his mother rushed forward to envelop him in a hug before any more words could come out. His stepfather and younger siblings followed more sedately, their more distant bond making them a little hesitant. After getting her hug in, Mrs. Yata stepped back and tweaked her son’s ear. 

“Ow, ma!” Misaki protested. “You’re gonna tear my ear off!” 

“No I won’t,” his mom replied. “Now you have some explaining to do, young man.” 

Misaki gulped and looked pleadingly at Fushimi for help. Misaki’s mom caught the glance, and rounded on Fushimi, releasing her son’s ear to do so. 

“Wait, mom, it wasn’t his fault!” Misaki yelped. “He really did think I’d died! See, if I’d been at work when the attack happened, I would have died, but my boss had asked me to run an errand so I was at the bank, but Saru didn’t know that and I couldn’t tell him because I broke my PDA and then at the evacuation center they wouldn’t let me go home-” Misaki’s mother stemmed the flow of babbling by turning to glare. Misaki swallowed, but it seemed it was only to collect himself because he persisted. “Look, when Saru found me, he was gonna tell you guys, but I asked him not to just in case something happened. I just kinda felt like telling you guys I was still alive would jinx it, y’know? Like he’d tell you and then the next day I’d die for real and then he’d have to tell you that, and I didn’t wanna do that, to you guys or him. A-and I did cut it close a few times, so it was probably a good idea, right?” 

Fushimi couldn’t suppress a snort and a mutter of “A _few_ times?” 

“Hey you shut up,” Misaki ordered. 

“You know, it’s a really tempting offer that, but I’m gonna have to pass,” Fushimi drawled, revelling in the way Misaki childishly stuck his tongue out in retaliation. 

“I see you two haven’t changed,” Misaki’s stepdad sighed. “Come on, dear, let’s go look at the memorial. Even if Misaki’s still here, there were still a lot of people who were lost.” 

Misaki’s mother nodded, but before following her husband, she rounded on Misaki. 

“You better not have anything else that you haven’t told us, Mister,” she threatened. “It’s not nice to keep things from your family!” 

“Uh, well there is one other thing…” Misaki admitted. He held up his hand, displaying the ring adorning the fourth finger. “Er, how good are you at planning weddings?” 

Fushimi tried not to laugh when Misaki’s mom flicked his forehead as his punishment. It was something Misaki had done to him before, often when Fushimi’s thinking was getting too negative. 

It was strange how happy seeing Misaki with his family always made Fushimi. Perhaps it was seeing the people of Misaki’s past accepting his current self. Or maybe it was nice to see what family was supposed to be, since Fushimi had never had that. Sometimes Fushimi thought maybe it was a family trait, some ability that made it so that the Yatas all exuded such joy that it was shared with those around them. But really, he suspected that it was seeing the person who was the center of his universe being happy and loved that was what he liked so much about seeing the entirety of the Yata family together. He liked knowing that other people appreciated Misaki too sometimes, and it was nice to know that even if other people showed Misaki affection, Fushimi was still the one he came back to. 

As they followed after Misaki’s stepfather, Fushimi found Misaki’s hand and took possession of it, intertwining their fingers as they walked. He smiled, content in this moment. 

A few months ago, Fushimi had thought that he was alone, that his beloved had died and left him behind. The sun had been hidden by constant fog, and there had been a war threatening their city. How things had changed since then. Everything he’d lost had been re-obtained, something he’d never believed possible. He’d lost many things in the past, taken from him by a cruel excuse for a father, but never before had anything been returned to him. 

“What’s with that look?” Misaki asked, peering up at him. Fushimi’s grin widened. 

“Oh, just glad that we’re alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Knowingly letting people who care about you think that you're dead is a dick move, and should not be imitated.   
> As usual, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed.   
> And if you left kudos/comments, thank you. Some of those comments gave me life, and 90% of the reason I didn't respond to things on this one is because I wasn't sure maniacal cackling was really an appropriate response to such thoughtful and/or heartfelt commentary.


End file.
